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the: 


SMUGGLERS-CHESTNUT 


BY 

y 

CLARENCE B. BURLEIGH 

M 


IVith Illustrations 



OF CO.Vr- 


I • CCT ^'6 

AUGUSTA 

E. E. KNOWLES AND COMPANY 
1891 





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Copyright, 1891, 
liY C. B. BURLEIGH 

AH rights resented. 


TO 

MY BROTHER, 

LEWIS A. BURLEIGH, 


IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



PREFACE. 


It has been the aim of the writer to present, in the hero of 
this volume, not only a live bo}', but a real boy. 

This could not possii)ly be done were he to depict him as a 
perfect boy. Such boys exist only in the grotes(|ue idealism 
of certain professedly "helpful ” juvenile works in which young 
angelic figures move through a sort of celestial atmosphere to 
continuous works of goodness, and are burdened with none of 
the faults that the frail everyday children of the human race 
are forced to contend with. It is a fact that these truly good 
books are rapidly becoming reminiscences, for, strange as it 
may seem, real live boys and girls will not and can not bring 
themselves into sympathy with seraphic personages, whose 
counterparts they have never met with in their own little 
world. 

Often, indeed, have young people blindly sought relief, 
from such books, in literature of the dime novel stamp, pre- 
ferring its wicked, worldly, unnaturally precocious heroes and 
heroines to the uncongenial cherubim, which well meaning, 
but mistaken elders had selected for their literary playmates. 

It is certainly a hopeful sign of the times that for some 
years past our Sunday school libraries have been discarding 
literature that, with all its goodness, has not power to touch 


5 


6 


PKEFACE. 


a single sympathetic, responsive chord in the hearts of the 
young people for whose advantage it was benevolently evolved, 
but the formation of whose characters it has been conspicuously 
impotent to influence. 

There is probably nothing in the world that a live boy or 
girl more heartily detests than a lecture on ethics, and when 
such lectures are illustrated l)y cold wax figures, that bear no 
resemblance to anvthing childhood ever saw, the torture 
becomes simply unendurable. 

It is not a difficult thing for successful educators to incu\ 
cate good morals in young people, for they are wise enough 
to sugar-coat their ethical pellets with life and interest; to 
ffive them something of natural warmth. 

The writer has endeavored to impart to Raymond Benson 
such a human interest as shall insure hiin fellowship with 
those who may make his acquaintance. He has aimed to 
make him a truthful, a fearless, a manly boy who, with all 
his fiiults, will exert a healthful influence upon those who may 
know him — in short has endeavored to make him the centr.-il 
figure of a volume in which readers may find not only some- 
thing to enlist their interest, but also a stimulus to do what is 
honorable and right. 

It is his earnest hope that the book may serve, in some 
degree, the purpose for which it was written. 

Augusta, Me., Juxe 2G, 1891. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Trouble at the Chestnut High School ...... 11 

CHAPTER II. 

The Spirit of Mischief 28 

CHAPTER III. 

Tom Atkins Takes a Tumble 42 

CHAPTER IV. 

Joel Webber’s Close Call . . « . o(> 

CHAPTER V. 

An Evening at Squire Copeland’s Store . . . , . 70 

CHAPTER VI, 

Raymond Shoots Pete Atkins’s Dog . , , . . 83 

7 


8 


CONTENTS. 


ciiai’tp:u VII. 

PAGE 

Dud has a Visitation from Burglars . • 

, \ 

CHAPTER A III. 

A Nio^ht in the Orchard Ill 

CIIAI’TEli IX. 

Noah Griffin’s Reformation • 

CIIAPTEIl X. 

The Burning of Grandfather Benson’s Barn . , . . 143 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Famous Arson Trial . . . - . . , . . . . 15(5 

CHAPTER XII. 

An Unexpected Verdict ...172 

chaptp:r XIII. 

A Mysterious Visitor . . . . 18(5 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Raymond and Ned Do Detective Work ..... 203 


CONTENTS. 


9 


CHAPTER XVo 

PAGE 

llayiiioiul is Made a Prisoner . . *J25 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Tables Turned 240 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Xed Has Some Stirring Experiences 257 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Xed Becomes Acquainted with the Scoop 267 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Pete Atkins in the Toils 278 

CHAPTER XX. 

Joel Webber is Given a Surprise 287 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Conclusion . 298 

( 



THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTKIi T. 

THOUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 

”WiLL you hold up your head, Raymond Benson, and 
attend to the recitation, or shall I try the vii-tue of this?” 

It was Mr. David Beechain, the teacher of the Free High 
School at Chestnut Corner, who thus delivered himself. As 
he spoke he waved the tough ash iiointer which he held in his 
hand towards a sijuare-shoiddered, compactly huilt hoy Avho 
sat upon the front seat with his elbows upon his knees and 
his face buried in his hands, apparently oblivious of the reci- 
tation in history that had been going on about him. Even 
the sharp, imperative tones of the teacher did not fully arouse 
him to his surroundings. He was conscious that his name 
liad been spoken, but so absorbed had he seemingly been in 
his reliections that he had not understood the remark addressed 
to him. Slowly raising his head, he cast a bewildered look 
about the room and inquired in an unceidain voice : 

'"What, sir?” 

'AVill you pay some attention to this recitation, or shall I 
try the viitue of this?” 

"That pointer?” 


11 


12 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


”Yes, sir, this pointer. I mean just what I say. Either 
you will know what is going on in the class, or know the 
virtue of this. Now which do you purpose to do?” 

"Neither.” There was a ring of defiance in the voice. It 
was evident to the excited pupils, who had dropped their 
hooks and were watching the scene with amazed faces, that 
Kaymond Benson was thoroughly angry. His mouth was 
rigid and set, and there was a determined look in his eye. 

His reply had been so wholly unexpected that David 
Beecham was quite as much astonished at it as were his 
jmpils. 

"Do you intend to defy me?” he gasped. 

"I intend to accept neither of the alternatives you have 
})roposed to me.” 

"What do you mean, sir?” 

"Just what 1 say.” 

Mr. Beecham grasped the pointer in his hand more firmly 
and took a step toward Bayniond, then stopped irresolutely. 
The outlook did not please him. He was but little stronger 
l)hysically than the boy who faced him so defiantly. He saw, 
too, by the heavy ruler which Kaymond had taken from the 
window sill and was holding tightly in his hand, that he would 
not be subdued without a struggle. Mr. Beecham did not 
relish the prospect of a fight. He was not a belligerent man. 
Besides, he had a special incentive to ])eace in this instance in 
the fact that Dave AVeston, a cousin of llaymond’s, and one 
of the largest boys in school, had risen from his seat and 
stood half way down the aisle, closely watching the })rogress 
of affairs, with an evident purpose to take a hand in them, 
should they come to blows. Under the circumstances Mr. 
Beecham concluded that diplomacy was preferable to war. 


TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 


13 


''I did not expect this of you, Kajanond,” he said with 
unconcealed emotion. ” What is the meaning of it?” 

"It means just this; I have had a had headache all day. 
You must have seen that both times when you spoke to me 
before. I haven’t wanted any trouble. I don’t intend to 
have any. When it comes to that I will take my books and 
leave school. It is best, now, perhaps, that I should go any- 
way. I will not trouble you further, but I certainly shall 
not submit to a whipping from you or any other man while 
I am able to resist him.” 

"If your head ached, why didn’t you tell me of it?” 

"I thought you could see it for yourself.” 

"Unfortunately I could not.” 

"Well, I’m not to blame for that.” 

^Ir. Beecham made no replj^, but turning abruptly and 
going to his desk, he rang the bell for recess. When it was 
over, Raymond Benson was no longer a member of the 
school. He had taken his books and gone to the village 
proper, which was nearly half a mile below the school house. 


Chestnut Corner was not very much of a metropolis. As 
its name indicates, it was situated at the crossing of two 
roads. One of these was the old county road which con- 
nected the Corner, and the rest of Aroostook County, with 
the prosperous city of Bangor, seventy miles to the south- 
west, and thence with the great outside world beyond. In 
former years this road had been the main thoroughfare for all 
the traffic of the county. Over it daily ran a line of large 
stage coaches, each drawn by four or six horses. These were 
almost invariably loaded to their utmost capacity. In addi- 


14 


THE 8-AIUGGLEIJS OF CHESTNUT. 


tion to the stage coaches, there was a daily succession of 
heavy "tote” teams, hauling the products of Aroostook to a 
market at Bangor and bringing back with them all the articles 
of merchandise required for the county trade. Those were 
halcyon days for Chestnut Corner, if one could accept the 
concurrent testimony of its older inhabitants. The arrival of 
the stage was always an event looked forward to with each 
recurring day. Its interest never waned, and in sunshine or 
storm the lumbering coach was sure to find an eager group 
awaiting it when it drew up at the Corner post office. Here 
was the focus of interest in the little village ; here, while the 
mail was being distributed, the good towns-pe'ople met to 
exchange choice bits of neighborhood gossip. No local news- 
paper, had the Corner boasted one, could possibly have 
dished up the local happenings half so exhaustively. It must 
not be inferred, however, that the Corner gossips were at all 
exceptional. Was there ever a country town without them? 
Indeed, would anyone with well developed social qualities 
desire to live in a rural community that did not possess them ? 
Most of the people who from time to time congregated at the 
Corner post office were whole-souled and generous-hearted. 
Their desire to know about their neighbors was almost wholly 
due to a kindly interest in them. A townsman had only to 
meet with misfortune to have a very convincing proof of this. 
The ministrations of his neighbors took a practical form. His 
wood-pile was never allowed to diminish, nor was his larder 
permitted to become empty. Notwithstanding all this, there 
were people at Chestnut Corner — as there are at all country 
corners, — who were accustomed to declare that it had a greater 
number of gossips in proportion to its total population than 
any other place in the country. The}^ would usually accom- 


TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 


15 


pany this statement with a little list of the most inveterate 
gossips, and then, branching oft* into more general lines, 
would, ten chances to one, ftnally ])ring up with a careful 
review of the available young ladies of the town and the 
^'fellers” who were going with them, together with sage pre- 
dictions as to the chances for matrimony in each case. They 
were quite as often at the post office at stage time as were the 
” gossips” whose prying interest in the affairs of their neigh- 
bors they so deeply deplored. 

The heavy "tote” teams that had formerly traversed the 
county road had also been a most impoilant feature in the 
daily affairs of the Corner. They frequently hauled up at 
Cobe Hersom’s blacksmith shop to have horses shod or repair- 
ing done, and their drivers were always surrounded by a 
group of eager questioners who found a never failing source 
of interest in the budget of news which they had collected all 
along the line. Many an errand these teamsters did for the 
people along their route, and in return were seldom obliged 
to pay for meals and lodgings. Those wer ‘ ceriainly lively 
times for the Corner, and it was not strange tint the older 
men, who still found a rendezvous at S(juire Copeland’s st( re, 
which, as in days of yore, continued to bear the post cfiice 
sign, and at Cobe Hersom’s shop, where the projirietor still 
did business on a somewhat smaller scale, loved dearly to 
enlarge upon their glories. 

The advent of the railroad at Bolton, eight miles from the 
Corner, had given the death blow to stage coaches and "tote” 
teams. Now the only thing that the C’orner could boairt in 
the shape of a stage was a beach wagon during the summer 
months, and an old pung in winter, which daily carried the 
mails to and from Bolton. Many who had never anticipated 


16 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


any other mode of travel than vstaging were heavy losers by 
the decline of staging. Others there were who had foreseen 
such a result and had shrewdly disposed of their stage prop- 
erty. Among the latter was Andrew Benson, who had once 
been sole proprietor of the line of stage coaches which passed 
through the Corner on the road between Bolton and Bangor. 
In addition to this, he had owned a majority of the heav}^ 
"tote” teams which traversed the same road. Foreseeing the 
decline of staging, he had sold his line and invested the pro- 
ceeds in a beautiful farm a]:>out three miles below Chestnut 
Corner. His "tote” teams had been utilized in lumber oper- 
ations. 

At this time the large family which Mr. Benson had brought 
up were grown men and women with homes of their own. 
Among them was Henry Benson, who, by industry and econ- 
omy, had been able to establish a large commission business 
in Bangor and to accumulate a handsome property. Heni}^ 
had two children ; Clara, a quiet, sweet-faced girl of fourteen, 
and Raymond, three years older, to whom the reader has 
already been introduced under somewhat embarrassing cir- 
cumstances. 

City life had not been a good atmosphere for Raymond 
Benson. His superabundant energy and love of excitement 
had led him to select companions who were far from his 
parents’ liking. They had frequently discussed their boy’s 
future with much anxiety, and had finally decided that a year 
or Hvo of country life would prove in every way beneficial to 
him. This decision was strengthened by a letter from father 
Benson in which, under an attempt to appear cheerful, was a 
pathetic reference to the loneliness that he and mother felt in 
the old home nest from which all the young birds had flown. 


TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 


17 


This letter decided Mr. Benson to send Eaymond at once to 
the old homestead. He felt that what the boy most needed 
was some healthy employment. Idleness was sure to lead him 
into mischief. In the work of the farm he would find abun- 
dant outlet for his surplus vital force. The bracing country 
air would insure him physical vigor, and the schools at Chest- 
nut Corner would afibrd him an excel Tent opportunity for the 
continuance of his studies. Thus, a week later, Raymond 
found himself domiciled under his grandfather’s roof. 

Grandfather Benson was a progressive man. He was always 
ready and anxious to learn of new and improved methods of 
cultivation, and it was largely due to this fact that his farm 
was among the most productive and profitable in the county. 
Because his father had been accustomed to certain methods of 
Avork, and he himself had subsequently folloAved them, it Avas 
no reason, he declared, Avhy he should think those Avays were 
necessarily the best, or AAdiy he should hesitate to discard them 
for Avhat he believed to be better ones. He Avas not among 
the number of those Avho think that the world is degenerat- 
ing. To him the era of progress Avas a living fact. He 
believed that, in his OAvn Avorld of action, he knew more about 
farmins: than his father had knoAvn, and he did not doubt that 
the succeeding generation would be far in advance of his own 
in everything that pertained to practical life. 

He had seen Chestnut groAV from a aa ilderness into one of the 
most prosperous toAvns in Aroostook County. More than half 
a century before, Avhen only fifteen years of age, he had started 
in with his father to clear the place he then OAvned. They had 
built a small log camp upon the banks of the brook beside the 
spring, from Avhicli a hydraulic ram uoav forced a never-failing 
supply of pure water into a large tank beside the porch sink. 


18 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


Those were days of hard work for Andrew Benson and his 
father. The ring of their busy axes was almost the only 
sound that broke the silence of the great i)rimeval forest ; but 
they brought to their labors rugged health and the hearty 
appetites acquired l)y wholesome work in the open air. As 
they lay in their bunks at night they frequently heard the 
howling of hungry wolves about the little clearing. Game 
was plentiful and formed a most important item in their daily 
bill of fare. The brook fairly swarmed with trout, and many 
a delicious meal they pulled from its waters. 

In time a respectable clearing was made in the forest, and, 
with the assistance of one or two friends from other clearings, 
a good sized log house was erected near the camp. Here, the 
following spring, Mr. Benson brought the remainder of his 
family, a cheerful, industrious wife and two little girls. Then 
began a long, hard struggle for a livelihood. A number of 
other children were born, and it was often a i)uzzle to find the 
means for feeding all the hungry mouths that gathered at meal 
time about the rude board table. Often, indeed, it was found 
necessary to supplement the i)roducts of the farm with fish and 
game, of which, happily, there was almost always an abun- 
dance . 

But fortune favored this hardy. God-fearing family. Sick- 
ness was almost unknown among its members. The children 
grew into rugged, earnest Christian men and women. Slowly 
but surely the wilderness was subdued and the Benson farm 
became one of the best in the county. The old log house, 
through whose large cracks the snow had often sifted in on 
stormy winter nights, to pile itself in little drifts about the 
beds of the boys in the loft, was replaced by the more modern 
building which was still the farm home. 


TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 


19 


It had seemed a veritalile palace to the Bensons when they 
had first moved into it, so much more rooni}^ and convenient 
was it than the home they had left with its small rooms 
roughly partitioned off with the cedar splits, which, in the 
pioneer days of Chestnut, before the advent of saw-mills, 
were made to answer the purpose of hoards. 

And yet there were tender memories and cherished associa- 
tions clustering about the old home that made it very dear to 
all the family, and many bitter tears were shed when, a few 
years later, it was torn down to make room for the ell which 
was then added to the new house. 

In time the children grew up and moved away — some of 
them to distant states. Andrew Benson alone, of all the 
number, continued to reside in Chestnut. He carried on 
the farm and made a comfoi*table home for his father and 
mother up to the time of their death. In return for this he 
was given the homestead. He continued to reside upon it 
until a large family of children were gathered about him. 
Then he sold the farm and purchased the old, rambling tavern 
at Chestnut Corner, to2:ether with the stasre line between 
Bolton and Bangor. The years that followed were prosper- 
ous ones. All of Mr. Benson’s children were earners, and 
the expenses of the family were watched over with frugal 
economy. The girls hel^ied their mother in the household 
duties of the tavern — Corner people would have smiled to 
have heard it called a hotel, — and the boys drove stage and 
took care of the stable. Mdth such thrift the family soon 
had quite a sum of money at profitalile interest, to which they 
3'early made material accessions. 

When the children finally started out in life for themselves 
each had accumulated ])y honest industry enough to be of 


20 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


considerable assistance to him, and still father Benson retained 
a very res[)ectable bank account, in addition to his other 
property. 

The hal)its of thrift and economy which the children had 
learned of their parents proved of great value to them in after 
years, and, at the time of which I write, all were accounted 
well-to-do, and several of them wealthy. Among the latter 
was Henry Benson, Kaymond's father, who was justly consid- 
ered one of the most prosperous and influential citizens of 
Bangor. 

AVhen the children had all left the old home, and their 
places in the work of the tavern were filled with hired help, 
the old building lost its charm for father and mother Benson. 
Then, too, the prosperous days of stage lines were on 
the wane. The railroads were supplanting them all over the 
country. This fact did not escape the attention of ^Ir. Ben- 
son, who was a liberal patron and close reader of the news- 
papers. He saw that some day even Aroostook county, as 
far removed from the great centers of trade and life as it then 
appeared to be, and fenced in by many miles of virgin forest, 
would be reached in the progressive march of the iron rails. 
His neighbors, to be sure, pooh-poohed the idea, but that did 
not change in the slightest his opinion upon the matter. He 
was a man who arrived at conclusions with cautious slowness, 
and when they were reached adhered to them with conserva- 
tive tenacity. 

In these days he found the love of the old home farm 
returning with all the power it had exerted upon him in 
younger years. He was homesick, he told his wife with a 
wistful smile, for the old place ; and finally, when a good 
opportunity presented itself, he had purchased it, sold the 


TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 


21 


tavern and stage line, and moved back once more under 
the roof of the old home, around which clustered so many 
tender memories of by-gone days. Here he kept open house 
for all the Benson family, and during the warm summer 
months it was seldom without a merry party of his grand- 
children and their parents. 

These visits to grandfather Benson’s were highly enjoyable 
events to the grandchildren, and were looked forward to by 
them with an eagerness that was not unshared, if not always 
shown, by their parents. 

When grandfather Benson found himself back once more 
on the old farm he had thrown himself into the work of 
improving it, with all the pride and energy he had bestowed 
upon it in younger years. It would have seemed to most 
men as if little remained to be done. The farm was in an 
excellent state of cultivation, and the buildings upon it were 
in thorough repair. Grandfather Benson, however, found 
many things to do. The meadow land about the brook was 
carefully under-drained and transformed into a magnificent 
hay field. The large orchard was thoroughly renovated. 
Old trees were grafted with scions of the finest varieties, and 
a large number of choice young trees were set out. 

'Hf I do not gather the fruit of these,” Mr. Benson had said 
with a smile to his wife, when she cautioned him against 
working so hard, "it will be pay enough for all my trouble 
just to see them grow.” The good man, however, had 
already been enjoying the fruit of these trees for several years 
wdien Raymond came to him. 

When the work in the orchard was completed, grandfather 
Benson began an innovation that filled his worthy neighbors 
with amazement, and was soon the talk of the town, forming 


'22 


THE SMUGGLEIIS OF CHESTNUT. 


the subject of many an earnest discaission around the big stove 
in Squire Copeland’s corner store. To be sure, the matter 
might not have appeared of great importance to the world at 
large, but in Chestnut events that were not of special moment 
in themselves sometimes assumed unexpected interest from 
their surroundings. So with Andrew Benson’s improvements 
upon the old farm. The worthy townspeople had declared it 
all folly for a man of his years and property to work so inces- 
santly. The great inlluence that he had always exerted in 
town matters gave his affairs unusual interest to Chestnut 
citizens. His "new-fangled notions” were always a fruitful 
theme of discussion at the sewing circles and the post office. 
But everyone agreed that grandfather Benson’s latest eccen- 
tricity exceeded anything in that line of which he had before 
been guilt}'. It was nothing less than the clearing up of the 
unsightly rubl)ish by the roadside in front of his farm, and 
the planting of a row of apple trees along the whole length 
of the narrow strip of land thus reclaimed. Chestnut peoi)le 
could appreciate the clearing up of the rubbish, and voted it 
an idea in every way worthy of emulation ; but they were 
unable to conceive of any sufficient reason for the apple trees. 
It certainly seemed to them a very strange thing, when the 
most unceasing vigilance was necessary every fall to keep 
the apple thieves out of the orchards of the town, to see a 
man planting fruit trees beside the road where their product 
would be within reach of every passer by. 

"I hope you don’t expect to get any apples from those 
trees,” ]Mr. Grover had said, as he came one day upon grand- 
father Benson busily engaged in setting out the last of them. 

"Why not?” was the response. 

"Because they will be stolen.” 


TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 


23 


"I don’t believe they will be. Doubtless a few will be 
taken, but I sha’n’t object to that. If any man who is going 
by here in the fall when these trees are bearing wants an 
apjde or two, I shall be perfectly willing to let him have 
them. After all such people are satistied, I think there will 
still be quite a number of apples left for me to gather.” 

^I’ln blest if 1 believe it, Andrew,” said Mr. Grover, with 
an incredulous shake of his head. ’'I’ve had some experience 
with apple thieves and I don’t feel any too sure. Why, 1 had 
to keep a constant watch over my orchard last fall. If I 
hadn’t, I really don’t believe I should have gathered any 
apples at all. As it was, I lost a number of bushels; that 
was back from the road, too. These trees you have planted 
here will have no protection whatever. Everybody will have 
an opportunity to help themselves.” 

"Well, one thing is certain,” responded Mr. Benson with a 
smile. ”If they get what they want here, they won’t go into 
my orchard for apples, so that, after all, by your own admis- 
sion, I shall be better off than you are.” 

”Yes, if you’re willing to throw away all your hard work 
and have these trees count you nothing.” 

"But they will count me something, won’t they, if they pro- 
tect my orchard, and save me the tiouble of watching it?” 

"Yes, but nothing compared with the value of the apples 
you will lose. Just as long as no fruit, to amount to anything, 
is raised in the upper part of the county, there will always be 
an inducement for thieves to raid our orchards. I shall be 
glad when the people up north get orchards of their own. 
Then there will be no demand there for fruit to stimulate our 
own and other rascals to steal it from our orchards.” 


24 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


" Do you think some of those fellows live here in Chestnut ? 

”I haven’t the slightest doubt of it. In fact, I feel morally 
sure who some of them are. It would be a very difficult, 
if not an impossible thing, though, to prove it to a legal 
certainty. AVe must wait for the growth of orchards up 
north before we can really expect to be let alone by such 
knaves.” 

"Yes, but when that thing comes about we shall have lost 
our fine market for fruit,” responded Mr. Benson. "You see 
it counts about six on one side and half a dozen on the other. 
I don’t fear anything of the kind, though. In my opinion 
neither the soil nor the climate of upper Aroostook is suited 
to fruit raising.” 

"There’s something in that,” admitted Mr. Grover, "though 
I confess I’ve never looked at the matter in that light before. 
It may have been a way Nature had of sort of evening up her 
bounties between us and the people up north.” 

"Perhaps so,” was the smiling response. "Now I’ll tell 
you just how I happened to plant these apple trees here. I 
think you’ll agree with me that it isn’t such a foolish notion at 
some of my neighbors have imagined. I had intended at first 
to set out maples, but it occurred to me that I could get vari- 
eties of apple trees that would look about as well and have 
the added advantage of usefulness. If all the apples are taken 
I shall be just as well off as I would have been if I had planted 
maples. If I get any fruit from them, it will be clear gain, 
for it’s no more work to set them out than it would be to set 
out the maples, and there isn’t much difference in the cost of 
o^ettin^ them.” 

"I don’t know but what you are right, Andrew,” conceded 
Mr. Grover. "You have a way of looking clean ’round a thing 


TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 


25 


where some of us can only see it from one side,” and he con- 
tinued on his way home, a convert to the innovation. 

But grandfather Benson did not cease his improvements 
upon the old j)lace with the changes on the road front. He 
built a fence about the whole farm that was the admiration of 
all who saw it, and that soon became known far and near as 
the finest in the county. It was built of whole cedar logs, of 
which there was an abundance upon the farm. The bottom 
log rested upon a granite underpinning. The fence was six 
rails high, the top rail along the road front being securely 
bolted on. This w^as a precautionary measure and grew out 
of grandfather Benson’s observation of the fact that rail fences 
were chiefly endangered by the practice of teamsters in taking 
off fence rails for use as levers in the drifts of winter and the 
mire of early spring. Broad as was grandfather Benson’s 
})hilanthropy, it was not sufficient for the sacrifice of that new 
fence to the needs of Chestnut teamsters. 

These were only a few of the improvements that grand- 
father Benson made upon the old place after his return to it, 
and he still had many others in view when Raymond came to 
him. The boy entered with enthusiasm into all his plans. 
In ffict, he found his life on the old place far pleasanter than 
he had anticipated. His grandparents were devotedly 
attached to him, and did everything in their power to 
make him happy and contented. There was also an interest 
for him in the farm work, for grandfather Benson knew 
exactly how to awaken it. He had made Raymond a con- 
fidant, advising with him about the crops and the care of the 
stock, and readily accepting his suggestions when they were 
good ones. Raymond was given three late calves which Mr. 
Benson intended to kill, a colt, four lambs, and two dozen 


26 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


hens, and he was thus imbued with that personal pride and 
interest in the creatures about him that comes from a sense of 
proprietorship. Then, too, he had an acre of land all for his 
own, the products of which he was permitted to dispose of as 
he pleased. This he planted to potatoes, the great money 
crop in Aroostook. He had labored diligently all through 
the spring and summer, grandfather Benson frequently declar- 
ing that he would not want a better boy to work. When fall 
came he dug his potatoes, securing a yield of one hundred 
and fifty bushels, which he sold at the starch factories and at 
the Bolton market, clearing the snug little sum of sixty 
dollars. 

It was the second week in October that the Free High 
School at Chestnut Corner began. Raymond, who had 
grown a little weary of the monotony of farm life, had looked 
forward to this event with considerable interest. I will 
explain here for the benefit of any of my readers who may 
not understand the term, that free high schools are carried on 
in Maine under special statute laws. These provide that any 
town which establishes and maintains such a school not less 
than ten weeks in the year shall receive from the state one 
half the amount actually expended for instruction, pro- 
vided that it does not exceed two hundred and fifty dollars, 
and that the town’s appropriation has been exclusive of 
the amount required by law for common school purposes. 
The money required by the state law for the school at Chest- 
nut Corner had been raised by private subscription. The 
list had been headed by grandfather Benson, who, on Ray- 
mond’s account, had made himself the prime mover in the 
, project. After considerable canvassing the necessary amount 
had been secured, and David Beecham, a State College 


TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL. 


27 


student, who had taught the district school the previous 
winter with flatterino^ success, was eno^ao^ed as instructor. 

It had been quite a problem for Raymond how he should 
get to and from the Corner in attending the school. This 
was soon satisfactorily settled. Ned Grover, who lived on 
the adjoining farm, was also going to attend the school, and 
boasted among his possessions a spirited four-year-old colt. 
This, with an old harness and buggy of grandfather Benson s, 
provided the boys with as fine a team as they could possibly 
have desired. What beautiful drives they had enjoyed 
through the crisp autumn air ! And how familiar had grown 
their clear, merry voices to the people who lived along the 
road ! 


28 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER IT. 

THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF. 

Although David Beecham had been successful as a dis- 
trict school teacher, he soon found that a free high school 
was quite a diflerent thing. It was much larger; then, too, 
its pupils were older and were drawn from all parts of the 
town. As he made out his register Mr. Beecham told himself 
that he had never before in his life undertaken a task of such 
magnitude as the teaching of the Corner High School. 

For a week or two matters went along smoothly enough. 
Then the trouble began. A spirit of mischief and unrest 
appeared to pervade the whole school. Even some of those 
who had been among Mr. Beecham’s most staid and steady- 
going pupils at the district school seemed completely domi- 
nated by its influence. Mr. Beecham was utterly bewildered 
by it, and one day when slow-going, studious Roscoe Bean, 
who had never before been known to do anything amiss, sud- 
denly liounded from the front seat, in the midst of a geometry 
recitation, threw his book upon the floor, and gave vent to 
a war-whoop that would have done credit to a Comanche, 
the teacher was thoroughly per})lexed. In response to his 
inquiry, "AVhy, what is the matter, Mr. Bean?” Roscoe had 
answered, ” Nothing, much,” but at the same time he cast a 
look that was anything but pleasant at Raymond Benson, who 


THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF. 


29 


sat behind him apparently absorbed in his history lesson. 
Mr. Beecham forebore to question him further, but he was 
fully convinced that Roscoe knew more than he was willing 
to tell. Could the teacher have looked under the seat, he 
would have seen sticking from the toe of Raymond Benson’s 
boot a sharply pointed tooth-pick. This it was which, when 
inserted through the slats of the front seat, had exercised such 
a startling influence upon Roscoe Bean. 

"Ross, you were a brick not to tell on me,” said Raymond 
to his victim at recess. 

"Well, if you ever do anything of the kind again I shall 
tell, and more than that. I’ll give you a whaling you won’t 
forget right away.” 

"I’m terribly sorry about that, old man. I didn’t intend to 
hurt you so,” and there was such a world of sympathy in 
Raymond’s tones that Roscoe was instantly mollifled. 

"It’s all right this time,” he said, "but don’t let it occur 
again. I shouldn’t be responsible for what would follow.” 

That noon the bell was missing, and it took considerable 
vocal exercise on the part of Mr. Beecham to call the school 
to order. It was three days before the missing bell re-appeared 
upon the teacher’s desk as suddenly and mysteriously as it had 
vanished, but, in the meantime, Mr. Beecham had settled in 
his own mind the identity of the magician. He felt that Ray- 
mond Benson was at the bottom of pretty much all the mis- 
chief that w^as going on. He concluded not to say anything 
for the present, but to keep a closer watch over his actions. 
He did not wish any trouble with the boy whose cordial man- 
ners, sunny disposition and exuberant life made him a prime 
favorite with all his associates. Raymond was also a fearless 
boy, with an active mind, fertile in resources, whether for 


30 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


mischief or play. He was a born leader, and Mr. Beecham 
fully appreciated the importance of keeping on the good side 
of him. Moreover, he felt under peculiar obligations to grand- 
father Benson, and was loath to take any step that might strain 
their pleasant relations. 

Matters grew worse, instead of better, however. Kaymond 
Benson and Ned Grover had been playing a little practical 
joke upon their fellow students for a day or two. It seemed 
to them very humorous, and they appeared to extract consid- 
erable merriment out of the surprise and discomfiture of their 
victims. The plan of operation was for one to engage the 
victim in conversation while the other crept up and took a 
position on his hands and knees just behind him. A sharp 
push from the boy in front seldom failed to send the unsus- 
picious subject of the experiment flat upon his back with stai-t- 
ling celerity. It was a dangerous and foolish pastime, but 
the victims generally took it good-naturedly, and were always 
on hand to witness the grand tumble of the next one to fall 
into the trap. 

Veneration was not a strong trait with Raymond Benson, who 
as my readers have doubtless discovered, had many serious 
faults. Near the school lived a crabbed old fellow named Ezra 
Johnston, whose large orchard some of the boys had been in the 
habit of visiting occasionally. One day the old man discovered 
Harry Oakley and Sam Brown, two of the High School boys, com- 
ing from the direction of his apple trees, and assuming that they 
had been stealing his fruit he followed them into the school yard. 

"See here, you young rascals, what do you mean by steal- 
ing my apples?” he demanded. 

"Whom were you speaking to?” inquired Brown with 
apparent surprise. 


THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF. 


31 


"To you and that other fellow there,” pointing to Oakley. 
"You needn’t try to look so innocent. I saw you coming 
from my orchard just now. I’m going to give you your 
choice of two things. Either you will pay for the apples I’ve 
lost, or I’ll — blazes !” 

As this last ^startled remark slipped from the old man’s 
mouth his heels flew in the air and he measured his length 
upon the ground, impelled by a sharp push from Brown over 
the back of Raymond Benson, who had crept up behind him 
during the progress of the conversation. Before he could 
regain his feet the boys had disappeared in the school house, 
in answer to the bell, leaving him to rub his shins and swear 
vengeance. 

These were but a small part of the pranks in which Ray- 
mond Benson was continually engaging. The spirit of 
mischief in him appeared to be contagious. It pervaded the 
whole school. 

A very disturbing element consisted of several young men 
who, although they were too old to engage personally in the 
petty mischief so annoying to the teacher, were not above 
urging the smaller boys on by an apparent approval of their 
pranks. Among these young men was Dave Weston, the 
cousin of Raymond, who has already been referred to in the 
preceding chapter. Dave was twenty years of age and 
although he was personally attentive to his studies, and gave 
Mr. Beecham no cause to complain of his conduct in the school 
room, yet, in a quiet way, he had contrived to make him a 
great deal of trouble. Dave had been known a few years 
before as the worst boy in the Corner High School, and 
finally, after having several disgraceful knock-down encoun- 
ters with his teachers, had been expelled from school by the 


32 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


committee. This rough, but wholesome lesson sobered him 
somewhat. He began to realize the shame and folly of his 
course and to see that school was the place where he should 
strive to lay the foundations for future success in life. For 
several terms after this he attended the academy at Bolton. 
Here he had an opportunity to meet and know young men 
who were ambitious for the future, and earnestly devoting 
their most zealous efforts to prepare themselves for its duties. 
Such associations were of great benefit to Dave. They stim- 
ulated his love of study ; they developed his manhood and 
broadened his views of life. He became anxious to secure a 
good education, and desirous of taking some worthy position 
in the world. For the first time he devoted himself to his 
books with a genuine determination to master them, and was 
astonished at his own rapid progress. 

But though there had been a great change for the better in 
Dave, he still had many things to learn. There still remained 
many important lessons in true manliness of character for him 
to master. When the Free High School at the Corner opened, 
he had sought, and obtained from the committee, on promise 
of good behavior, permission to attend it. That promise had 
been kept in form, but not in spirit. So far as his personal 
conduct in the school room was concerned, Mr. Beecham 
never had reason to complain. He was studious and respect- 
ful ; but outside of school hours he succeeded in setting 
on foot no little mischief among the smaller boys, who 
entertained a profound respect for his opinions. 

Upon Raymond, especially, had Dave exerted an unwhole- 
some influence by privately commending him for acts of mis- 
chief which he should have been manly enough to condemn. 
In short, he was a most pernicious factor in the unrest, and 


THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF. 


33 


toolish pranks which were so seriously interfering with the 
usefulness of the school. 

tell you there doesn’t begin to be the pluck and backbone 
in this school that there was a few years ago,” he remarked to 
a crowd of the younger boys as they sat upon the steps of the 
school house platform one morning about half an hour before 
the morning session. "In those days no teacher would have 
dared to domineer round the way Beecham does now, I can 
tell you. It wouldn’t have been well for him if he had. He 
would have been lugged out doors mighty lively. The fel- 
lows in the school had nerve in those days. They didn’t 
allow any man to insult them. I shall never forget the win- 
ter we lugged Charles Kendrick out and dumped him in a 
snow-drift,” and Dave laughed loudly at the amusement which 
the recollection appeared to afford him. 

"How was that?” queried Raymond, with evident interest. 
"I’ve heard that affair referred to a number of times, but have 
never learned the full particulars of it.” 

"Yes, let’s have it,” came in eager chorus from the other 
boys. 

"Well, you see,” began Dave, who only wanted this invita- 
tion to tell the story, and who was delighted to have around 
him such an interested audience, "when Kendrick came here 
he was sort of looked upon as a last resort. He had the rep- 
utation of being a terror. The school here had the name of 
being about the toughest one in the county. Half a dozen 
different teachers tried their hands at it, but all of them came 
to grief. The people round town got disgusted and everlast- 
ingly nagged the agent. They got him terribly keyed up on 
it. He couldn't think of anything else, and vowed he’d find 
a man who could teach this school, if he had to hire a prize 


34 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


tighter and pay him a whole years money for a single term. 
After considerable correspondence he got on track of Ken- 
drick, who was recommended to be a regular steam engine. 
He was a powerfully built fellow and had the reputation of 
being the best all-round athlete in his college. He had been 
hired at bi^ wao^es to teach a number of hard schools and had 
never failed to straighten them out. In fact, he had got his 
name away up in that kind of business. Well, he got along 
here after a while. He reached the Corner on the afternoon 
stage from Bolton, and while he thawed himself out by the 
stove in Copeland’s store, he proceeded to tell the people 
there just what he intended to do. The report that the school 
here was a hard one didn’t frighten him a bit, he said. He 
should really like to see the school he couldn’t teach. With 
him at the helm there would be no more term wrecks at the 
Corner. Of course he would probably have to dust out a dozen 
or two ringleaders before matters got settled down to a business 
basis, but that was to be expected. The young bloods would 
have to learn who their master was. After that, he promised 
his hearers, there would be no further trouble at the school. 
He assured them he’d straighten matters out if he had to flog 
every mother’s son of us into our beds.” 

"1 should say he was a fool to make such talk as that,” said 
Eaymond. 

"Yes; even if he thought that way, it wasn’t very good 
policy to let people know it in that public manner,” added 
Ked Grover. 

" What sort of a looking fellow was he ? ” queried several of 
the group. 

"He was about five feet ten inches high, square-shouldered, 
stocky built and quick as a cat. He was a splendid boxer. 


THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF. 


35 


too. In fact, if he could have kept the whole school at arm’s 
length, I don’t doubt but what he could have done all he said 
he could, and more. He was an athlete, every inch of him.” 

"I should suppose you fellows would have been afraid of 
him,” said Raymond. 

"Well, to tell you the truth, we were for a few weeks — 
that is, until we had time to sort of take the measure of him ; 
then we concluded that any dog that barked as much as he 
did wouldn’t bite very deep when it came to a fight.” 

"How did he start in?” asked Ned. 

"As pompous as old King Cole himself. After he had 
called the school to order, he made us a little speech. He 
said he had heard the school spoken of as a hard one, and he 
understood that its pupils had behaved outrageously toward 
former teachers, but there was ^oin^ to be a radical chano^e 
that term. Then he show^ed the school a heavy ruler and a 
big rawhide. 'These are hard masters,’ says he, 'but it 
depends entirely with you whether they have any work to do 
this term or not.’” 

"What did you say to that?” asked Raymond. 

"Not a word, but we kept up a considerable of a thinking. 
You never saw such a tyrant as that Kendrick was from the 
time he started in until the time we finally put him out. A 
cat couldn’t have watched a mouse any closer than he watched 
us. He seemed to delight in studying up new punishments 
for the smaller scholars, but we soon began to notice that, 
with all his big talk, he didn’t appear anxious to have any 
trouble with us large fellows. Well, matters w^ent along 
quietly for about three weeks, but there was a storm brewing 
all the time, and finally it burst. All of us large boys were 
in the history class. We took that study on purpose so that 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


3 () 

we might all be together when we got ready to run Kendrick 
out. While we were reciting one day little Ted Avery, the 
widow Avery’s little lame son, did something — I never knew 
what — that made Kendrick mad. Quicker than it takes to 
tell it he had the frightened little fellow by the coat collar and 
draijo^ed him into tlie floor in front of the school. There he 
held him out at arm’s length and shook him till he was dizzy 
and dazed. When he finally let go of him the poor little chap 
fell to the floor in a dead faint. That was more than we fel- 
lows cculd stand. We just rose in a body from those front 
seats and fell upon Kendrick like a barrel of bricks. We 
took him completely by surprise, and he didn’t have time to 
ward us off before we clinched with him. AVhen we once got 
glued onto him, he couldn’t shake us off.” 

"Did he fight?” was the eager query from several of th3 
boys. 

"Did he fight!” repeated Dave, as if amazed at the ques- 
tion. "AVell, I should rather say that he did. We fellows 
never realized before what a cordy, powerful fellow he was. 
He made the dust fly, I can tell you. A demon couldn’t have 
struggled more desperately. At times it almost seemed as if 
he’d get the upper hands of us in spite of all we could do, but 
we were too many for him, and finally winded him. I tell 
you, it was awful exciting about that time around these prem- 
ises. The girls screamed and ran out doors, while the small 
boys showed their hatred of Kendrick by cheering us on, and 
bringing us woolen comforters from the entry to tie him with. 
We w^ere a pretty hard looking crowd when we finally choked 
the fight out of him. All of us were covered with dust from 
head to foot, and not one of us had a whole suit of clothes on 
his back. Our hair was all ruffled up, our collars torn off. 


THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF. 


37 


and a number of us were bleeding from scratches we had 
received, but we didn’t mind that a bit. We had knocked 
Kendrick out and were happy. We tied him hand and foot 
and laid him, breathless and gasping, upon the teacher’s plat- 
form, about the most surprised man, I think, there ever was 
in the town of Chestnut.” 

''What did he do?” asked Raymond. 

"Well, just as soon as he could get his breath he began to 
cry baby and blubber like a great calf. I never saw a man 
come down the way he did. lie promised to do entirely dif- 
ferent in the future if we’d only let up on him ; but we didn't 
dare to trust him. AVe lugged him out onto this very plat- 
form and bounced him into a big, soft snow drift that stood 
over there at the south end of it. That wilted him com- 
pletely. AYhen we brought him back into the school house 
he was bawling like a great overgrown child and begging us 
to let him go.” 

"Did you do it?” asked Ned. 

"No, we didn’t dare to take any chances with him. AVe 
left him there, packed up our books and went home. Some 
of the small boys who owned the comforters we had tied him 
with let him go after we had left the school house. I can just 
tell you boys the affair kicked uj) an awful row, and there was 
terrible excitement in town — but most of you know all about 
that. There was no more school that term. Kendrick was 
horribly mortified and left town the very next morning. He 
has never shown up in these parts since.” 

“AA^hat was done about it?” asked Raymond. 

"About what?” 

"Your row with Kendrick.” 


38 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Well, the committee concluded that no live man could 
teach the Corner school while we fellows were in it, so they 
expelled every one of us who had a hand in lugging out Ken- 
drick. I am the only one of the crowd who has ever been in 
this school house as a pupil since. I tell you, those were live 
times," he continued, enthusiastically. "We had boys with 
blood and backbone in school then. They wouldn’t have 
stood Beecham long, you may be certain ; but things are dif- 
ferent now. I’m out of that kind of sport. It wouldn’t look 
right in one of my age ; besides, I’ve got round where I want 
to learn something.” 

"I don’t see any similarity between that man Kendrick and 
Beecham,” declared Raymond emphatically. 

"Why not?” 

"Kendrick was a coward and a bully, while Beecham is a 
gentleman.” 

"Oh, of course Beecham isn’t like Kendrick,” assented 
Dave. "I never said he was. I only said our old crowd 
wouldn’t have stood him ; but that doesn’t signify much. 
They wouldn’t have stood anybody in the shape of a teacher.” 

" I thought you were trying to draw a comparison between 
the two men,” said Ned. 

"No, I wouldn’t undertake to do that. The two men are 
totally different. It’s lucky Beecham isn’t a Kendrick, though. 
It would be rough on this school where there isn’t blood 
enough to do anything but grin and bear whatever comes 
along.” 

"Yes, no doubt the valor of this school forever passed away 
with the heroic souls who helped you lug Kendrick out,” said 
Raymond, with an impatient sneer. It was evident that the 
slurring remark of his cousin had nettled him. "We are not 


THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF. 


39 


altogether bereft, however,” he i^dded. "You are still with 
us.” 

A shout of laughter greeted this remark, but Dave main- 
tained an unruthed good nature. 

"Don't get excited, my boy,” he said with a quiet grin. "I 
haven’t said you fellows were without courage. I simply call 
attention to the fact that you have given very little indication 
of it this term. Once in a while a fellow does something that 
has a suspicion of spunk about it, but the others don’t stand 
by him, and he’s frowned right down.” 

Dave’s remarks were closed by the ringing of the teacher’s 
bell. But the manner in which he had made the disgraceful 
conduct of himself and his companions, in resisting their 
teachers, appear commendable and even heroic had not been 
without its injurious influence upon his hearers. Many of the 
younger boys thought that day, as they sat in the droning 
school room, what a fine thing it would be to end the burdens 
of the term by tieing Mr. Beecham and lugging him out 
doors. Fortunately there were none among them foolhardy 
enough to attempt such a thing, though Dave Weston deserved 
no credit for the fact. His whole influence had been injurious 
to the highest interests of the school, although he would doubt- 
less have vigorously protested that such was not the case, had 
he been brought to task for his unmanly conduct. 

The afternoon that Ezra Johnston was given his grand 
tumble Mr. Beecham kept Kaymond after school and had a 
lonof and earnest talk with him. He told him that life was 
altogether a more serious matter than he was making it ; that 
he had come there to lay the foundations for what he hoped 
would be a good and useful career. 


40 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


”I know, Raymond,” he| said earnestly, "that you have 
abilities that, with proper use, will some day place you in the 
front rank of influential men ; but you must make a better 
use of them than you have here. You might easily lead in 
your classes if you would only apply yourself to your books, 
but instead of that, with the exception of history, you rank 
low in all of them.” 

"There are a number lower than I, Mr. Beecham.” 

" That is true ; but it is no recommendation for a young 
man to say that he is not the lowest in his classes when, with 
just a fair amount of application, he might be easily first in 
all of them.” 

"I have studied considerably, Mr. Beecham.” 

"You have, by fits and starts, done good work. That 
method does not bring the best results Miiy where, Raymond. 
It is only persistent effort that achieves the highest success. 
Your conduct this term has been an injury not only to your- 
self, but to the whole school.” 

"The whole school?” 

"Yes ; you seem a little incredulous, but it is, nevertheless, 
a fact. You have a great influence over your associates, and 
the course you take has very much to do with the success or 
failure of this school. I had hoped to find in you a help and 
support, but almost from the beginning of this term you have 
been deliberately engag(‘d in i*obbing your fellow pupils.” 

”You don’t mean to charge me with stealing, do you?” 

"In the sense you mean, no; in a more important sense, 
yes. Many of the pupils here do not enjoy your advantages. 
This is the only chance a number of them have had to attend 
school during the whole year. It is very important that they 
should make the most of their opportunities. "Whatever 


THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF. 


41 


they acquire here will be of great assistance to them in the 
future. Now, whenever you, or anyone else, distracts the 
attention of fellow pupils from their books, you take from 
them so much that would otherwise be theirs, and they go 
away from here at the close of the term so much the poorer 
prepared for the work of life.” 

"I had never thought of that,” said Raymond soberly. 

”But it’s so, isn’t it?” 

"Yes.” 

"Well, I hope you will never rob any of your fellow stu- 
dents again, Raymond. I have never asked you if you were 
responsible for any of the pranks that have been committed 
this term. I knew you were too brave and manly a fellow to 
lie about it, and I did not want to take advantage of your 
truthfulness to convict you of those things. You know it is a 
rule of our courts that witnesses need not criminate them- 
selves.” 

"I am glad you have had this talk with me, Mr. Beecham. 
I have behaved outrageously, but I mean to do better. I’ll 
turn over a new^ leaf this very day. Here’s my hand on it.” 

Mr. Beecham shook the proffered hand very cordially, and 
started for his boarding place with more buoyancy of spirits 
than he had felt for a fortnight. 

Raymond was unusually silent as he and Ned Grover drove 
home behind the gray colt that evening. His companion told 
himself that he was thinking up some new mischief for the 
morrow. In this Ned was mistaken. Raymond was very 
seriously making some good resolutions. Had he kept them, 
this story might never have been written. 


42 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER III. 

TOM ATKINS TAKES A TUMBLE. 

”I CAN show you a trick worth two of that.” 

It was Raymond Benson who spoke. He and Ned Grover 
had been watching some of the Corner boys who were angling 
for victims in front of Squire Copeland’s store with an old 
pocket-book, to the under part of which was attached a stout 
linen thread. Several people had stooped to pick it up, only 
to see it elude their grasp and vanish quickly around the cor- 
ner, where Jim Farris and Elmer Cole, who w^ere engineering 
the sell, were stationed. In every instance the victims had 
joined heartily in the laugh which greeted their momentary 
surprise and discomfiture, and had taken a good position to 
enjoy thoroughly the chagrin of the next victim. But this 
sport had begun to grow a trifle monotonous. No victim had 
put in an appearance for some time, and the hardest thing in 
the world for live boys to do is to do nothing. All had grown 
tired of waiting, and eagerly gathered around Raymond to 
hear what he was about to propose. They had implicit faith 
in his power to originate plans for amusement. 

"Let’s have it,” they chorused. 

"You see, fellows,” said Raymond, "it’s a secret. Only 
Ned and I know it. Now I’m willing to let you into it one 
at a time, but no more. You see I mean to put each one 
under personal obligations not to give it away. If all of you 


TOM ATKINS TAKES A TUMBLE. 


43 


don't agree that it’s better than that old pocket-book trick, I’ll 
eat my hat. Now let every fellow who wants to know it hold 
up his hand.” 

Every boy but one promptly responded. 

"Don’t you want to know it?” asked Raymond of Tom 
Atkins, who had refrained from holding up a hand with the 
others. 

"No, I guess not.” 

"Why?” 

"Oh, you’ve got crowd enough without me.” 

"Yes, I guess so, too,” said Raymond sarcastically. " When 
a fellow hasn't sand enough to stand in with the other boys, I 
wash my hands of him.” 

"That’s so, we don’t want him, anyway,” came at the same 
time from several of the boys, and Tom, finding the atmos- 
phere a decidedly frigid one, and fearing, perhaps, that he 
might be made the victim of his companions’ displeasure, 
walked away and entered the store. 

"I’m glad he’s gone,” said Raymond. 

"So am I,” added Harry Oakley. 

"He always was one of the meanest fellows in the town,” 
chimed in Sam Brown. 

"Well, it’s all right, boys,” said Raymond. "If he doesn’t 
want to join with us, he isn’t obliged to, and noliody here 
appears to want him very badly, anyway. Now well come 
to business. I will stay here on the store steps with you, and 
Ned will be out behind the building on the platform of Bill 
Gleason’s carriage shop. You fellows may go round there, 
one at a time, and he will initiate you into the trick. Y hen 
you’ve all learned it we’ll come together, if you wish, and see 
which one can do the best at it.” 


44 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"That’s first rate,” was the general exclamation among the 
boys, who by this time were very much interested in Ray- 
mond’s new scheme, and exceedingly curious as to the nature 
of it. 

Harry Oakley was the first boy to go to Ned around the 
corner of the store. 

"Well, wdiat is it, old man?” he asked with an apprehen- 
sive look about him. 

"Nothing very much, Harry,” w^as Ned’s reply. "Just sit 
down beside me on this platform and I’ll show you.” 

"Propound the mystery,” laughed Harry, as he followed 
Ned’s directions. 

"You see this rock,” continued Ned, exhibiting a cobble 
stone about the size of a base ball. 

"Yes, I’m all eyes.” 

"Well, the scheme is to put your hands under your legs 
from the outside, right here by your knees, and see how far 
you can throw this rock with them in that position.” 

"Is that all?” asked Harry with much disappointment. 

"Isn’t that enough, my boy? You’ll find it considerably 
more of a trick than you imagine, I assure you.” 

"You hold the rock in both hands?” 

"Yes.” 

" And throw it from between your legs ? ” 

"Exactly.” 

"Why, a bal)y can do that. Well, here goes. Great 
Scott ! ” 

This last expression was one of genuine surprise. Before 
Harry could throw the rock, Ned had seized him firmly by 
both wrists, and lifting him clear off the platform, dropped 
him gently to the ground, where he struck with a force and 


TOM ATKINS TAKES A TUMBLE. 


45 


abruptness that, as he afterwards expressed it, ”made his ears 
snap.” 

"Well, what do you think of it now?” asked Ned coolly, 
when Harry had recovered somewhat from his astonishment. 

" It’s great I ” 

"I thought you’d say so.” 

Am I to stay here and see the other fellows initiated ? ” 

”l.es, that’s a privilege of the wise.” 
ell, call the next candidate.” 

See here, my boy, you must keep a sober face on you,” 
cautioned Ned, '’and mind you’re all enthusiasm.” 

"Have no fears of that. I was completely carried away 
by it.” 

The next victim M-as Sam Brown, and the way Harry rolled 
upon the platform in a perfect paroxysm of laughter at the 
figure his friend cut, was a sufficient proof of the sincerity of 
his conversion. In this way all of the boys were initiated 
into the mysteries of Raymond’s new game. As Ned was 
instructing the last one, Raymond, who was about to join the 
boys and witness the sport, was surprised to see Tom Atkins 
steal from the opposite side of the building and enter the 
store. 

"The mean sneak ! I’ll bet he’s been spying ! ” he thought, 
and turning about he went into the store, where he found Tom 
seated upon the counter, explaining the new game to an inter- 
ested crowd of irrinniiw loafers. 

"You see, all the other boys were just green enough to 
bite,” he was saying. "They’ll do anything Raymond Ben- 
son wants them to, but I was a little too sharp for him. He 
tried to bluff me into it, but found it wouldn’t work. There 
are one or two other people in the world just as smart as he is.’^ 


46 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"And you stole out on the other side of the store and took 
in the fun, did you?” asked Bill Gleason, who spent more 
time holding down the nail kegs in Squire Copeland’s store 
than he did in his carriage shop. 

"Yes, I saw them put three fellows through. It was great 
sport,” and Tom laughed heartily at the recollection. 

"I believe you’re stuffing us,” chimed in big Joel AYebber^ 
who had been holding a whispered conversation with Ray- 
mond Benson behind the post office boxes. 

"No, I’m not. I saw the thing worked on three different 
fellows.” 

"How did they do it?” 

"AYhy, Ned had them sit down on the platform of Bill’s 
shop, put their hands under their legs, so, and — ” 

But Tom didn’t complete his sentence. The moment his 
hands passed under his legs Joel seized him with an iron grip 
by both wrists, and lifting him clear off the counter, dropped 
him upon the floor, where he struck with a force that made 
his hair stand on end, and brought out all the rattle in every 
piece of crockery and hardware in the store. 

There was a perfect roar of laughter from those present, 
which was heartily joined in by Ned Grover and the other 
boys, who entered the store just in time to witness Tom’s 
grand tumble. 

"Oh, I shall be lame for a month I I shall be lame for a 
month!” howled the unhappy victim, as he limped to a seat 
on a neighboring nail keg. "That’s your work, Benson. J’ll 
got even with you some day,” he added flercely. 

"I thought Joel did it,” laughed Raymond. 

"AVell, you put him up to it. Enjoy your fun now. My 



“Oh, I SHALL BE LAME FOR A MONTH.’’ 


(Page 46) 



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TOM ATKINS TAKES A TUMBLE. 


47 


turn will come some day, and then it won’t be such a laugh- 
ing matter for you.” 

"I begin to see why Tom didn’t join us,” said Raymond, 
turning to the boys. 

"Why was it?” 

"He felt a little high-toned and wanted an initiation in- 
doors all by himself.” 

"Yes, but there was probably another reason,” chimed in 
Ned Grover. 

"What was that?” asked several of the boys. 

"The drop from the platform of Bill’s shop wasn’t far 
enough for him ? ” 

Another roar of laughter greeted this sally. 

"You fellows may get all the fun out of this you can,’* 
growled Tom, who was fairly choking with rage and mortifi- 
cation. "My innings will come later on.” 

"Yes, but you won’t be able to bat our curves,” returned 
Raymond Benson over his shoulder, as he followed his com- 
panions out of the store. 

"ATe’ll see about that,” was the sullen rejoinder, and there 
was a look on Tom’s face that boded no good to the object of 
his anger. 

" He’s a mean fellow, and I’m glad to see him taken down 
a peg,” said Elmer Cole, when the boys had assembled again 
in front of Cobe Hersom’s shop. 

"So am I,” was the hearty rejoinder from a number of the 
group. 

"We mustn’t be too hard on him, fellows,” said Raymond 
soberly. "He’s the under dog just now and we can afford to 
be generous toward him. Besides, we must remember that 
he has never had the chance that most of us have.” 


48 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


” That’s so,” added Ned. ''I’ve heard father say many a 
time that it would l)e the greatest blessing that could happen 
to this town if old Pete Atkins and his tribe would move 
away from it.” 

"If justice were done I guess two or three of them would 
leave town and board at government expense,” said Sam 
Brown . 

" How so ? ” asked Raymond . 

"Why, you don’t suppose the whiskey old Pete sells ever 
pays any duty, do you?” 

"I had never thought much about it.” 

"Well, you may just make up your mind that it doesn’t. 
There is reason to believe that every gill of it is smuggled 
across the line.” 

"AWiy don’t the Custom House officers at Bolton stop 
him?” asked Jim Farris. 

"That’s easier said than done, my boy,” answered Ned 
Grover. 

"I don’t know why. The government pays those officers 
to see that the duties are collected on all articles that come 
across the line. It seems to me they can’t be attending to 
their work very well when they permit a man to smuggle 
liquor almost under their noses.” 

"How many officers are there at Bolton?” 

"I don’t know.” 

"Well, there are only three. These, with three deputies 
who are stationed in the northern part of the county, make 
up the whole force of the Custom House. It seems to me 
that six men would have to spread themselves out pretty thin 
to stop smuggling on a frontier one hundred and fifty miles 


TOM ATKINS TAKES A TUMBLE. 


49 


long, and covered nearly the entire distance with a dense 
forest growth.” 

"I hadn’t thought of that.” 

”I didn’t suppose you had. It’s the fashion round here to 
blame the Custom House officers if everyone who smuggles 
anything through the woods isn’t discovered and brought to 
trial. I think they do everything they can, though. It 
must take about all of their time to look after matters at 
Bolton, where the bulk of the imports come. I don’t see 
where they’d find much for patrolling the country cross roads, 
let alone a hundred and fifty miles of wilderness.” 

” You’re right, Ned,” said Raymond. "Where people live 
within eight miles of the Canada line, as we do, it is impossible 
to prevent more or less smuggling. Grandfather says he has 
never known a time when it wasn’t carried on to some extent, 
and never expects to, while the present conditions exist.” 

"The officers do catch them sometimes, don’t they?” asked 
Harry Oakley. 

"Oh, yes, frequently. At the last term of the United 
States circuit court at Portland there were five from this 
county tried on that very charge.” 

" What was done with them ? ” 

"One of them was discharged for lack of evidence, two 
were heavily fined, and two sent to prison.” 

"I should think that would sicken them of the business.” 

"It very likely will, those particular ones, but they are a 
very small fraction of the men who are engaged in this busi- 
ness. It isn’t altogether whiskey that’s smuggled, either.” 

"I guess, if the truth were known, old Pete Atkins’s oper- 
ations are not confined to that,” said Sam Brown. 

"What makes you think so?” asked Raymond. 


50 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Well, a year ago this fall, when my cousin Dick Kichards 
was visiting me from Portland, I took him down on Letter K, 
where Amos Dole operated the winter before, intending to 
use his old log camp on the banks of Bower Brook, and 
have two or three days hunting and trout fishing. We car- 
ried everything necessary for the trip in packs on our backs, 
and reached the camp about dusk. To our surprise we found 
it occupied. Old Pete Atkins and a stranger — a swarthy 
faced, rough looking man, about forty years of age, — w’^ere 
there before us. They greeted us cordially enough and 
invited us to come right in with them, but it was plain to me 
that they were not much pleased at our coming. In one 
corner of the camp they had several large packs, and they 
were not filled with bottles or jugs either, for old Pete threw 
a large iron bar that laid across the deacon seat upon them 
in a way that showed he wasn’t afraid of breaking anything. 
Neither he nor his companion had very much to say to Dick 
and me. They went outside the camp and I could hear them 
holding a very earnest conversation in the horse hovel. The 
next morning when we woke up they were gone, and so were 
their packs. I would have given a good deal to have known 
what was in them.” 

"Most likely the Custom House oflScers would, too,” added 
Eaymond. 

When the boys, who had been walking as they talked, 
arrived at the school house, they found that their morning 
sport had made them nearly half an hour late, but Mr. 
Beecham forebore to reprimand them. 

The Letter K, to which Sam Brown had referred, was an 


* The benches that encircle the fire of a lumber camp. 


TOM ATKIXS TAKES A TUMBLE. 


51 


unincorporated township some eight miles below Chestnut 
Corner. It was a wild, desolate place, covered with a heavy 
growth of timber. Through it ran Bower Brook, a good 
sized stream, which terminated on the swamp lands at the 
lower end of the township in a long stretch of deep, sluggish 
current called the Dead Water. Here fishermen who had the 
courage to work their way from the timber ridges across the 
stretch of bog that intervened, were said to catch the most 
beautiful trout that were to be found anywhere in that section 
of the state. 

The township also abounded in game. Every fall large 
flocks of partridges came forth from it to feed along the 
borders of the county road. A number of bears were annu- 
ally trapped upon it. Cobe Hersom kept a score of heavy 
steel traps set for them all over the township, and scarcely a 
year passed that he did not succeed in capturing five or six. 

There were reports, too, of even fiercer game having been 
seen upon it. Ezra Johnston had set the whole Corner wild 
two years before our story opens, with a thrilling account of 
a mysterious wild animal which had followed him for several 
miles through the township. He was returning from Matta- 
wamkeag, where he had been to get a load of iron for Cobe 
Hersom. Just as he got midway of Letter K, where its 
dense timber growth almost overlapped the county road, he 
observed what he at first took to be a large dog following his 
team. Upon a second look, however, he discovered that it 
was not a dog, but a wild animal somewhat resembling a 
large cat. Ezra declared that he could see its great yellow 
eyes gleaming through the pitchy darkness, and hear its jaws 
snap together in anticipation of the supper it was about to 
enjoy. He noted the fact that its fur was quite long and of a 


52 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


light brown color. The chances of escape looked small, but 
he whipped his horse into a gallop and took a firm .grip on 
one of the shorter iron bars, determined to make as brave a 
fight as possible. Looking behind him, he saw the animal 
following him at an easy trot, but keeping a respectful dis- 
tance from the wagon. The reason of this suddenly occurred 
to him. The beast was afraid of the rattling made by the 
iron. It did not dare to spring upon the team, but was 
determined to keep it in view. 

Thenceforth Ezra always declared that the most cheering 
sio:ht he ever saw in his life was the li^ht of the clearing 
beyond the woods, when it finally came in view. He looked 
behind him and to his intense relief saw the mysterious ani- 
mal turn about and disappear in the darkness of the forest. 
It had been a close shave, but he was safe. Then and there 
he formed the solemn resolution never again to venture into 
the wilds of Letter K unless he was thoroughly armed. 

There was an excited crowd of loafers at Squire Copeland’s 
store when Ezra drew up in front of it, his horse covered 
with foam, and with white face related the details of his 
startling adventure. For more than a week it was the talk 
of the whole town. It was the general opinion that the mys- 
terious animal was none other than an Indian devil (a pro- 
vincialism for cougar, or, as the early settlers had called it, 
catamount.) Some inclined to the belief that it was a lynx, 
but this Ezra emphatically denied. He had killed altogether 
too many of those in his life not to know one when he saw it. 

And so the wonder grew. Many people became timid 
about venturing out after dark, and there were few in town 
who cared to pass unarmed through a piece of woods at night, 
if it could l;e avoided. Several hunting parties were formed 


TOM ATKINS TAKES A TUMBLE. 


53 


to find the mysterious animal, and Letter K was thoroughly 
scoured, but all in vain. Not a trace of it could be dis- 
covered. 

As time went on public confidence in Ezra’s story began 
to wane. The loafers who had been at Squire Copeland’s 
store that night suddenly remembered that a strong odor of 
whiskey had flavored the old man’s excited description of his 
adventure. Then there were some few inconsistencies in the 
story itself. How, it was argued, could Ezra have possibly 
distinguished the light brown color of the animal in the pitchy 
darkness of Letter K woods on a night when there was 
neither moon nor stars? Then again, how could an Indian 
devil trot behind his team, when its method of locomotion 
was generally understood to be by long bounds? Why, too, 
should the rattle of iron bars have kept it from the attack 
when it could easily have made a short detour through the 
woods and seized the horse in front? No, undoubtedly Ezra 
had been the victim of an over-stimulated imagination. The 
only wonder about his trip was, as Squire Copeland dryly 
expressed it, that he had not seen snakes instead of Indian 
devils. The story ceased to be the wonder, and became the 
laughing stock of the town. 

This fact did not prevent George Fields and Bill Stetson, 
two Corner boys, from getting a bad scare the following fall. 
They had gone to Letter K for the purpose of putting in a 
winter at gunning and trapping. They carried a generous 
supply of provisions with them and took possession of the 
lumber camp on the banks of Bower Brook which has already 
been referred to. 

This they put in apple pie order, and with a good supply 
of wood, and a blazing fire in the middle of the camp, they 


54 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


rolled themselves in their blankets that night with a feeling 
that they should enjoy a very pleasant winter. 

Just as they were falling asleep, however, they were 
startled by an unearthly scream not far from the camp, fol- 
lowed by the sound of some heavy animal moving about in 
the underbrush. There was no more sleep for them that 
night. With eager haste they barricaded the camp door, 
using everything available for the purpose, and then, with 
blanched faces, and rifles in hand, sat upon the edge of their 
bunks awaiting an attack — but none came. 

At intervals through the night they heard the same un- 
earthly screech, coming first from one side of the little clear- 
ing, and then another. It was nearly morning before the 
Indian devil — for such the boys were firmly convinced it 
was, — ceased his weird screams and withdrew into the 
depths of the forest. With the first rays of morning light 
the boys packed up their camp outfit and started for home, 
preferring to face the chaffing of their friends rather than to 
spend another night in close proximity to such a beast. 

The boys only shared a very general fear of catamounts. 
Tradition handed down from the earlier settlers declared 
their method of attack to be the following of their prey by 
jumping from tree top to tree top, and then suddenly descend- 
ing upon the unsuspecting victim with a mighty leap, bearing 
it to the ground with tremendous force and killing it instantly. 
It was many a day before the boys heard the last of their 
trapping expedition to Letter K. There were even some 
who were uncharitable enough to insinuate that their Indian 
devil, like that of Ezra Johnston, had its origin in whiskey 
which they had procured of old Pete Atkins on their way to 
camp. 


TOM ATKINS TAKES A TUMBLE. 


55 


The house of Atkins stood midway between the Corner 
and Letter K, and was the plague spot of the town. A more 
disreputable family it would have been hard to find. It con- 
sisted of old Pete, his wife and four boys, of whom Tom was 
the youngest. The farm they lived on was one of the best 
in town, and was carried on by old Pete’s sons and hired 
help. The house was neat and well kept, for Mann Atkins, 
with all her failings, was a good housekeeper. The family 
had the reputation of being obliging and ready at any time to 
do a good turn for a neighbor. 

But, notwithstanding these good qualities, the Atkins 
family were conceded to be the worst in town, and there was 
not one of Chestnut’s respectable citizens who did not heartily 
wish they were out of it. They kept a notorious rum hole, 
and drunken orgies were an almost nightly occurrence at 
their home. 

Several attempts had been made to close the place, but in 
every instance the party making the complaint had come to 
grief. Old Deacon Graves had his barn burned ; Bev. Mr. 
Cross, the Methodist minister, had a fine horse so brutally 
stabbed and mutilated that he had been forced to shoot it ; 
and David Clay, the chairman of the selectmen, had two valu- 
able cows poisoned in the pasture. 

Thus it came about that none of the people of the town 
cared to incur the enmity of the Atkins family, whom every- 
body believed to have been responsible for all these outrages. 
They were, therefore, able to carry on their nefarious busi- 
ness with little molestation. Many of the citizens began to 
fear that the town would never get rid of them ; but it event- 
ually did, and Raymond Benson, as we shall see, bore no 
small part in accomplishing this result. 


56 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER IV. 

JOEL Webber’s close call. 

” CoBE Hersom’s caught a bear ! ” 

This was the startling announcement that caused a flutter 
of excitement among the pupils of the Corner High School as 
they gathered about the door early Monday morning of the 
third week. It was Elmer Cole who brought the news. 

''Where?” asked a dozen eager voices in chorus. 

"Down in Letter K. He caught it in a big steel trap he 
set last week. A party of the Corner folks are going down 
there this morning in a double team to get him. They say 
he’s a bouncer.” 

"Here it comes now !” shouted Jim Farris, excitedly. 

"What, the bear?” drawled Roscoe Bean, with a quizzical 
smile. 

"No, the team. There it comes round the curve. There’s 
Cobe and Joel Webber and — great Scott! — if Raymond 
Benson and Ned Grover aren’t with them. I’ll bet a dollar 
Cobe’s going to take them down there. See I Ned’s got 
Cobe’s double-barreled shot-gun and Raymond has Joel’s Colt 
revolver. Wouldn’t I like to go, though.” 

"Bah I I don’t see much sport in that,” observed Allen Web- 
ster sarcastically. He was a New York boy, whose parents 
had sent him to the home of his maternal grandfather at the 


JOEL Webber’s close call. 


57 


Corner on account, it was said, of several disgraceful episodes 
in which he had been concerned at home. Allen looked 
down upon the people of the Corner, whom he considered 
exceedingly green, and, with a feeling that the town was 
much too small for a person of his importance, never failed 
to impress upon those about him the wonders of his native 
city. It is needless to say that he had not increased his pop- 
ularity thereby. 

"You don’t see much sport in anything outside of New 
York,” was Elmer’s impatient response to his remark. 

"Well, what fun can there be in shooting a bear in a trap, 
when he can’t get away from you, and must stand up and 
take his medicine? Now if he was free, it would be quite 
another thing. There’d be some sport in hunting him then.” 

"No doubt of it.” 

"I shall never forget the last one I killed,” added Allen. 

"You killed a bear?” 

"Yes, you needn’t look so surprised. It’s a fact. I had a 
pretty close call, I can tell you. It was a monstrous one. I 
have the skin now in New York. We use it for a rug in our 
front hall.” 

"I thought you were something of a bear man the first time 
I saw you,” said Roscoe Bean dryly. 

"Yes,” replied Allen delightedly, assuming the remark to 
be a compliment. "It doesn’t take people long to discover a 
genuine sportsman.” 

"What kind of a bear was it you killed?” asked Elmer, 
struggling hard to keep back a laugh. 

"It was a big grizzly. I was hunting with a party of 
friends in the Adirondacks. One day we were looking over 
a steep precipice. About half way down we discovered a 


58 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


small opening that looked as if it led into a cave. I made 
up my mind to investigate, so I got the fellows to lower me 
down the face of the cliff with a long rope, and crawled into 
the hole. Imagine my surprise when I found myself in a 
large cavern. I at once began to explore it, but before I had 
gone three rods I found myself face to face with the largest 
grizzly bear I ever saw.” 

"How did it get up the cliff?” asked Eoscoe. 

"It came into the cavern, as I afterward discovered, by a 
rear entrance on the other side of the mountain.” 

"It must have been a very trying time.” 

"You can just bet it was. Most fellows in my place would 
have run.” 

"They certainly would,” interposed Eoscoe. 

"But I made up my mind to fight,” said Allen, not notic- 
ing the interruption. "I knew it would do no good to 
retreat, for I had untied the rope from my waist to enter the 
cavern, and realized that such a course would only result in 
my being dashed to pieces on the bottom of the ravine.” 

"A very wise decision, I should say, under the circum- 
stances,” remarked Elmer. 

"Well, I thought so. The eyes of that bear looked awfully 
bright in the blackness of the cave, I can tell you. I knew 
that a failure to bring down my game with the first shot 
would mean death to me. You may be certain it was an 
anxious moment. The muzzle of my rifle almost touched the 
bear when I fired. When the smoke cleared away, however, 
he was dead as a door nail, shot right through the brain.” 

"A very lucky shot, certainly,” said Eoscoe. 

"Yes. Most fellows would have felt like bragging a little 
over it, but that isn’t my style.” 


JOEL WEBBERS CLOSE CALL. 


59 


”So we’ve observed,” said Elmer with a comic seriousness 
that made the members of the little group grow red in the 
face in the eftbrt to smother their laughter. 

”I was^in that cave just fifteen minutes,” continued Allen, 
”and when I came out I had that bear skin in my hands. 
Perhaps the fellows weren’t surprised, though. You see 
they hadn’t heard the report of my rifle and didn’t have a 
suspicion of what was going on.” 

"Let me see, this occurred in the Adirondacks, did it?’! 
asked Roscoe. 

"Yes.” 

"And the bear was a grizzly ? ” 

"Yes, a monster.” 

"It was a lucky thing for Davy Crockett that he died 
before your day.” 

"Why so?” 

"If he hadn’t, he would never have brought that coon 
down.” 

The pent up laughter of the group found vent most heartily 
at this remark. 

"There are some country bumpkins whom it doesn’t pay to 
waste breath on ! ” said Allen as he walked angrily into the 
school house. 

"I don’t see what that fellow tells such outrageous lies for,” 
remarked Elmer Cole when he had gone. "He must take 
us all for infernal idiots.” 

"He does,” answered Roscoe, "and is desirous of making 
us open our mouths in wonderment. The fellow shows con- 
siderable imagination, though. He would shine as a dime 
novel writer.” 

The team which had started for the bear was now opposite 


60 


THE SMUGGLEKS OF CHESTNUT. 


the school house, and Raymond and Ned came in for some 
good natured chaffing. 

"Be sure and stab him through the lungs.” 

"I’ll take six pounds of steak.” 

"Bring me a fore quarter.” 

"Save me one of his tusks for a watch charm,” were a few 
of the pleasantries that followed them as they passed from 
sight over the brow of the hill. 

"They’ve given us considerable business,” said Raymond. 

"You must do your best to attend to it,” answered Cobe. 
"I’ve half a mind to get Dave Webber’s meat cart and let 
you and Ned peddle that bear out.” 

"Perhaps Mr. Beecham will feel that he can find better 
business for us at the school house,” responded Ned. "I 
don’t suppose he will like our being out this forenoon very 
well.” 

"Oh, just say to him that you were with me,” said Joel 
good naturedly. "That will make it all right.” 

"We can call at Amos Dole’s, the town clerk, when we 
come back, as long as we’re going right past his house, and 
leave the nose and ears for a bounty,” remarked Ned. "It 
will save us two trips.” 

"But that won’t do,” said Joel with a sly twinkle in his 
eye. "Cobe will have to take them home with him, or he 
can’t make his wife believe he caught a bear at all.” 

"Why is that?” 

"Well, you see he and Amos Dole went fishing down on 
Bower Brook not long since. Somehow they didn’t have 
their usual good luck. They waded out across the bog to 
the Dead Water, but were unable to find the raft. They 
fished as best they could from the shore, but only succeeded 


JOEL WEBBER’S CLOSE CALL. 


61 


in catching six small trout. Their feet were wet, and they 
were tired out and hungry, and, I suspect, somewhat out of 
sorts when they started for home. They hadn’t gone more 
than a mile before they scared up a flock of partridges. 
Leaving their horse standing in the road, they took their shot 
guns and followed them into the woods. While they were 
there Dr. Lemons drove along the road. He knew their 
team, and reaching out of his buggy took the small string of 
trout from their wagon seat and drove on with them. When 
he got to Cobe’s, he called, and gave them to Mrs. Hersom, 
explaining to her how he came by them. You may just 
believe Cobe and Amos were mad when they came back to 
their wagon with five plump partridges and found those trout 
gone. They raved round considerably, and vowed ven- 
geance on the thief if they ever caught him. 

* Where’s your fish?’ was the first question Cobe’s wife 
asked him when he got home. 

'Some infernal scoundrel stole them from the wagon while 
we were after partridges,’ he answered. 'It wouldn’t be well 
for him if I found him out.’ 

'Are you real sure you caught any fish at all?’ she asked. 

'Sure,’ ses Cobe. 'Why, Mirandy, there were forty-nine 
as nice trout as I ever laid my eyes on. Not a one of them 
that wouldn’t come near tipping the scales at a pound.’” 

"Now see here, Joel,” interposed Cobe good naturedly, 
"you’re drawing that a little strong. I never said that.” 

"Oh, yes you did, Cobe,” insisted Joel. "You needn’t 
try to crawl out of it. I got my information pretty direct, 
and that was precisely what you said. He was pretty crest- 
fallen, I can tell you, boys, when he sat down to dinner and 
found those six little trout before him. 


62 


THE •SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


'What are these?’ ses he. 

'Those are youi forty-nine trout,’ ses Mrs. Hersom. 'Dr. 
Lemon thought he’d get here a little sooner than you, so he 
brought them along.’ Cobe never said a word. He ate 
his supper in silence and then slid out of the house ’s if he’d 
been shot . They say he hasn’t mentioned trout since and J oel 
threw back his head and gave vent to a laugh so contagiously 
hearty that all the others found themselves joining in it. 

"You must make allowance for what Joel tells you,” said 
Cobe good naturedly. "He’s given to such yarns, you 
know.” 

And so the ride was continued till the old "tote” road which 
led into the woods from the county thoroughfare was reached. 

"Where’s the bear?” asked Ned, as they climbed out of the 
wagon. 

"He’s down that road about a mile,” answered Cobe. 

"Are you going to take the horses down there ? ” questioned 
Raymond. 

"Not yet. It’s about all we can do to get a team of horses 
near a dead bear, let alone a live one. When we’ve done 
him up, we’ll hitch onto that drag in the wagon and pull him 
out here.” 

As they went laughing and talking down the "tote” road 
the irrepressible Joel still kept up his fun. 

"You never killed a bear, did you, Raymond?” he asked 
solemnly. 

"No, but I’ve heard Allen Webster tell how it’s done, many 
a time. ' 

"Allen Webster!” exclaimed Joel in well feigned surprise. 
"I thought he never stooped to anything less than mountain 
lions.” 


JOEL Webber’s close call. 


63 


"Very likely he wouldn’t now. That was when he first 
began.” 

"The opening chapter of his Adirondack yarns, you mean,” 
laughed Ned. 

"Yes, I referred to his works of fiction.” 

"Well, that may all do for fiction, my boy,’' said Joel, "but 
when you meet a bear — a real live bear, my boy, you must 
first of all be sure and — ” 

"What?” asked Kaymond and Ned in eager chorus. 

"Keep cool,” responded Joel with the air of a man who had 
just imparted a great truth. 

"Of course,” said Raymond impatiently, "but what next?” 

"Well, you want to creep up to the bear softly, taking 
great pains not to rouse him.” 

"You don’t suppose he’ll sleep much in that trap, do you?” 
asked Ned. 

"No, not sound sleep; probably nothing more than a 
troubled doze. But, as I was about to say, creep up to him 
softly, being careful not to disturb him. Then seize him sud- 
denly by the tail, get a half hitch round the nearest tree and 
hold him firmly while your companion ties his knife on the 
end of a pole and stabs him to death.” 

"How many did you ever dispose of in that manner?’^ 
laughed Raymond. 

"Well, not very many. I never was very scientific, but 
you see — Great Scott ! What’s that ? ” 

Joel dropped his bantering tone with this remark and cast 
a startled glance in the direction of a heavy growth of firs and 
cedars to the right of them, from which issued a low, savage 
growl. 

"Well, there he is, boys,” said Cobe. "He’s awake.” 


64 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


”No chance for Joel to creep up behind him and get that 
half hitch,” said Kaymond with a rather nervous laugh. The 
growl had startled him considerably more than he would have 
cared to own. 

” Perhaps he can do it now, if he’s only quick enough,” 
remarked Ned. "Why don’t you try it, Joel?” 

"I’m too generous,” was the response. "I really couldn’t 
think of depriving you and Kaymond of such a chance to 
practice. How are we going to get him out of there Cobe?” 

The latter question was answered by the bear itself, which 
suddenly emerged from the thicket, dragging the heavy log 
clog to which the trap was attached, and giving vent to a suc- 
cession of savage growls that woke the forest echoes. The 
cruel teeth of the heavy steel trap had fastened themselves 
through one fore paw, crushing the massive bones. The ani- 
mal, which was one of the largest of its species, was evidently 
suffering the most intense agony and was in no mood to be 
trifled with. 

"Don’t get too near him,” said Cobe warningly. "He’s 
full of fight and if he takes after you it will astonish you to 
see what headway he’ll make in spite of the clog.” 

"He can’t do much of that now,” said Joel, as he slipped a 
cartridge into his breech loader. 

"Why not?” demanded Ned. 

"Just look at that clog,” responded Joel, pointing toward 
the bear. 

Ned glanced in the direction indicated and saw that the 
heavy timber to which the trap was attached had caught 
between two second growth maples and, to all appearances, 
rendered it impossible for the bear to make further headway. 

"I wouldn’t put too much dependence upon that,” said 



«• 




“The infuriated beast bore down upon Joel” (Page 65) 


JOEL Webber’s close call. 


65 


Cobe warningly. "Fve known bears to get away from much 
closer quarters. Just let me give him a pill from this Win- 
chester. One of them will be enough to settle his digestion — 
hold on ! where are you going?” he added hastily to Joel, 
who had suddenl}^ left the group and was making toward the 
bear with long strides, holding his gun under his arm. 

”To make the old fellow’s acquaintance,” was the laughing 
rejoinder. 

"Well, I advise you to keep a safe distance — Christopher ! ” 

The latter expression was one of alarm. In the plunging 
and pulling of the bear the clog had been thrown upon end 
and slipped between the trees. With a terrible growl of 
rage and pain the infuriated beast bore down upon Joek 
For once in his life that worthy was thoroughly frightened, 
and with white face made a break for the " tote ” road where 
Cobe and the boys were watching the scene, not daring to 
shoot for fear of hitting him. 

"Take for a tree, Joel !” shouted Ned excitedly, and his 
advice would probably have been followed had Joel been able 
to do so. But just as he got to the foot of the maple for 
which he was making, the bear was upon him, and with one 
terrific sweep of its paw sent him spinning into the under- 
brush. A small scrubby fir which stood beside the maple 
had broken the force of the blow, which might otherwise 
have proved fatal. The l)ear was about to punish him 
further when a well-directed shot from Raymond’s revolver- 
caused him to face about. It was evident that he was badly 
wounded, but there was still lots of fight in him. With 
open mouth and angry growls he made toward the group on 
the "tote” road. He had not gone far, however, when a 
bullet from Cobe’s Winchester laid him low. 


66 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


It was rather a dilapidated looking individual who imme- 
diately after came crawling forth on his hands and knees 
from the underbrush. The one blow which the bear had 
ffiven him had wrou<jht strange havoc with Joel. His hair 
was disordered, his clothes badly torn, and the blood streamed 
over his face from several ugly scratches on the side of his 
cheek, whether from the claws of the bear or from the under- 
brush he was unable to tell. Notwithstanding his woe-begone 
appearance Cobe and the boys could not refrain from a hearty 
laugh at the sorry figure he cut. 

"Yes, enjoy it, boys,” said Joel disgustedly. "I’ve made 
a fool of myself and amused the audience. I want them to 
get all the fun out of the show they can. Lend me your 
handkerchiefs, boys, while I go down to the spring and wash 
this blood off.” 

"You meant all right, Joel,” said Raymond quizzingly. 
"You were simply going to show Ned and me how to half 
hitch that bear’s tail round the maple.” 

"Yes, it was very clever — if you’d only been a little 
quicker,” added Ned. 

"Well, the bear seemed to hold the trump cards in that 
deal,” grinned Cobe. 

"Yes, and they appeared to be clubs,” rejoined Raymond. 

"I feel as if they came pretty near being spades,” groaned 
Joel, as he limped away toward the spring which bubbled up 
a little further down the "tote” road. 

Excitement reigned supreme at the Corner when the party 
arrived home about eleven o’clock with the bear. Everybody 
came to look at him and to get some of the meat, which 
formed an important item in the bill of fare at Corner 
homes that noon. Joel’s appearance was the subject of no 


JOEL Webber’s close call. 


67 


end of curious conjectures, but nothing could be elicited from 
any of the party. It was not long, however, before Ezra 
Johnston, who had dropped in to view the bear as it hung 
from a beam over the floor in Cobe’s barn, and who chanced 
to see the bloody knife with which it was dressed, solved the 
mystery. Before night the report was all over town that 
Raymond had been seized by the bear and would probably 
have been killed had not Joel gone to his assistance and 
stabbed the angry beast, after a most terrible struggle. The 
big, good-natured fellow suddenly found himself a hero in 
the eyes of the Corner folks, but he bore his honors meekly. 
In fact, his only response to the encomiums heaped upon 
him was a sly wink at Cobe and the boys which was more 
eloquent than words. 

Allen Webster was very much surprised at the close of 
school that afternoon when Roscoe Bean and Elmer Cole 
invited him to make a trip with them to the woods on Ezra 
Johnston’s back lot to see how the beechnuts were coming. 

^'Wouldn’t it be a fine thing if we could get a bear here?” 
said Roscoe, as they walked beneath the great trees. 

"I should just say so,” responded Elmer heartily. 
"Wouldn’t Raymond Benson and Ned Grover stick out their 
eyes, though?” 

"I don’t see what we’d kill him with,” said Allen, glanc- 
ing about apprehensively. "You really don’t believe there 
were ever bears in these woods, do you? ” 

"Why, certainly,” said Roscoe. "I’ve heard father tell of 
their coming out of here many a time and lugging off sheep.” 

"Yes,” chimed in Elmer, "and you know they always 
thought it was bears that carried off’ that old gray mare of 
Widow Smith’s.” 


68 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


The boys neglected to add that these events had happened 
more than twenty years before. It was evident that Allen 
was considerably wrought up by them. He laughed ner- 
vously at the sallies of his companions, and threw uneasy 
glances over his shoulder. 

"I suppose the bears of this section would Seem pretty 
small game to one of your experience in hunting wild ani- 
mals,” continued Elmer. 

"I should say that a fellow who had killed grizzlies in the 
Adirondacks would find it exceedingly tame sport to club an 
ordinary black bear to death,” added Roscoe. 

'"Yes, horribly tame, I can tell you. The last time I was 
in the Black Hills I — Hah ! What’s that?” 

The occasion of this abrupt question was an angry growl 
that came from a clump of hazel bushes before them, through 
which suddenly emerged the head and paws of a huge bear. 

"Great smoke ! It’s a bear !” shouted Roscoe, as he beat 
a hasty retreat. 

"Yes,” said Elmer, as he quickly followed him, "he’s a 
buster, too. Seeing as you’ve had more experience in such 
matters, Allen, we’ll just stand back and let you finish him.” 

But Allen paid no attention to either of these remarks. 
With the first appearance of the bear he stood for a moment 
as if rooted to the ground, a perfect picture of abject terror. 
His face was ghastly white, his teeth chattered, and his knees 
knocked together in a threatened collapse. But this was 
only for a moment. With the second growl that came from 
the bear he appeared to recover himself somewhat, and turn- 
ing about, he disappeared through the woods at a rate of 
speed which the boys had never seen him attain before. 

As soon as he was out of sight Raymond Benson emerged 


JOEL Webber’s close call. 


(39 


from the bushes and threw upon the ground the skin of the 
bear which he had shot in Cobe Hersom’s trap that forenoon, 
remarking in a voice convulsed with merriment, ''That was a 
pretty l)right idea, getting Cobe to leave the head and fore- 
paws on that skin.” 

But Elmer and Roscoe were rolling upon the ground in' a 
perfect paroxysm of laughter. 

"I should say from the way he ran that he would do well 
hunting rabbits,” continued Raymond. "He would be pretty 
sure of catching them.” 

"My soul, did you ever see the beat of that?” gasped 
Elmer. 

"He seems to have degenerated since he killed that last 
grizzly,” added Roscoe. "But perhaps he merely went after 
his dirk knife.” 

"Well, he must have got it by this time, then,” laughed 
Raymond as the trio started down the narrow foot-path 
toward the Corner. 

That evening all the people in the vicinity knew of Allen’s 
adventure, and the group at Squire Copeland’s store enjoyed 
more than one hearty laugh at his expense. It would be 
impossible to describe Allen’s chagrin when he learned the 
nature of the joke that had been played upon him. It was 
many a day before he heard the last of it. The lesson was a 
salutary one, however, and during the remainder of his stay 
at the Corner he was never known to indulge again in any of 
his old-time hunting fictions. 


70 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER y. 

AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COREL AND’S STORE. 

It was with mingled feelings that Raymond walked away 
from the Free High School after the trouble with Mr. Beecham 
narrated in the opening chapter. He endeavored to convince 
himself that it was wholly the teacher’s fault, and that he had 
been a much abused boy. In this he was not altogether suc- 
cessful. He found it impossible to blot out the remembrance 
of many mischievous pranks, which had taken the attention of 
his fellow pupils from their books and rendered the work 
of his teacher far more trying than it would otherwise have 
been. In spite of his resentment he found himself wondering 
at the patience which Mr. Beecham had frequently shown 
under the most exasperating circumstances. 

His anger cooled rapidly as he thought of these things. 
He began to feel that he had made a foolish exhibition of him- 
self. In vain he sought to convince himself that Mr. Beecham 
had been harsh and dictatorial. Try as he would, the feeling 
remained that it was he himself who was in the wrong, and 
that before night the story of his disgrace Would be in every- 
one’s mouth. He dreaded to think how grandfather Benson 
would take it. He vividly recalled the words the old gentle- 
man had spoken to him at the opening of the term : ''No boy 
who tries to do just right need ever have any trouble with his 


AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND’S STORE. 


71 


teachers.” He knew that his course had often been far from 
right, and it sobered him to think how badly grandfather and 
grandmother Benson would feel when they learned the circum- 
stances under which he had left school. For a moment he 
was almost prompted to turn back and ask Mr. Beecham’s 
pardon for the trouble he had given him, and seek reinstate- 
ment in his classes. His pride, however, foolishly stifled this 
good resolution. What would the scholars say? Wouldn’t 
they grin and nudge one another, and what a sissy they 
would think him to be ! No, he wouldn’t go back ; that was 
settled. 

He crossed the fields and took the foot-path through the 
woods on Ezra Johnston’s back lot. A partridge flew up 
almost under his feet, but he paid no attention to it. Under 
other circumstances it would have aroused all the sportsman 
within him, and he would have hurried back to the Corner 
for a gun. He paused a moment before the clump of hazel 
bushes from the midst of which he had been able to frighten 
Allen Webster half out of his wits. Ordinarily the mere 
thought of this episode was enough to convulse him with 
laughter. But today it appeared to have lost its power to 
amuse him. He wandered aimlessly along the narrow cow- 
path and only thought of retracing his steps when he came to 
the large spring that marked the dividing line between the 
hard wood ridges and an extensive cedar swamp. 

It was almost seven o’clock when he finally returned to the 
Corner. He found the team hitched in front of Squire Cope- 
land’s store and Ned walking up and down the platform, very 
impatiently awaiting his arrival. 

'H thought you were never coming,” was his greeting to 
Kaymond. 


72 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Why didn’t you go home without me?” 

"Well, I should have, if you hadn’t come about when you 
did.” 

"What did the boys and girls say about my trouble with 
Beecham ? ” 

"Why, they were considerably surprised, of course.” 

"Did they think Beecham was right?” 

"Well, some of them did, and others thought you’d have 
served him just right if you’d laid him out with that ruler.” 

"But what should you say the general opinion was?” per- 
sisted Raymond anxiously. 

"Well, to tell you the plain truth, old man,” replied Ned 
slowly, "the prevailing idea appeared to be that you were in 
the wrong.” 

"Did they think it was my place to take a flogging simply 
for holding my head down when it ached ? ” exclaimed Ray- 
mond indignantly. 

"No, but Beecham only asked you to hold it up, they say, 
and if you had told him it ached the first time he spoke to 
you, he would have excused you entirely. Of course, old 
fellow, I’m only speaking for the majority of them,” added 
Ned apologetically, as if he feared that Raymond might doubt 
his loyalty. "1 was with you right through, and if you’d had 
a fight with Beecham I intended to have a hand in it.” 

"Thank you, Ned,” said Raymond gratefully. "A fellow 
can appreciate such a friend as you. I guess I’ll not go home 
with you tonight. I’ll stop with Uncle Weston. Dave is 
going to Bolton with a load of potatoes tomorrow morning 
and I can ride home with him. Please don’t say anything to 
the folks about this affair, if you should happen to see them.” 

"All right. I won’t say a word.” 


AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND’S STORE. 


73 


'When Ned had disappeared over the hill that sloped in the 
direction of Bolton from the little stretch of table land upon 
which the Corner was located, Raymond turned into Squire 
Copeland’s store. At that particular moment he felt an inde- 
scriliable sense of loneliness. It seemed to him as if he were 
without friends, and a target for the adverse criticism of his 
neighbors. This is not a new or a strange feeling. Almost 
every live boy possessed of physical vigor and buoyancy of 
spirits has experienced it at some time — if he has an innate 
sense of honor and a heart that is in the right place. It is 
the reaction that comes from wrong doing — a feeling of self- 
condemnation far more gloomy and severe than any that other 
people will entertain. This Raymond was experiencing, and 
the sensation filled him with keen remorse. 

When Raymond entered the store, it was a little early for 
the usual group that made their rendezvous at Squire Cope- 
land’s. The old gentleman himself had been drawn upon the 
jury and was in attendance upon court at Bolton. His son, 
Ben Copeland, was in charge of the store, and greeted Ray- 
mond with a cordiality that did much to dispel his gloomy 
thoughts. 

"How are you, old fellow,” he said with a cheerful laugh. 
"I’m glad to see you. How does it go with you?” 

“Oh, I’m able to be about yet.” 

"I guess that’s more than Beecham could say if you’d 
dropped on him this afternoon. I tell you that kicked up 
quite a commotion. It’s been the talk of the store ever since 
school let out.” 

"What did people say about it?” 

"Well, they seemed somewhat divided. Part of them 
thought Beecham was too rough on you, and others thought 


74 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


he ought to have given you a good flogging early in the term. 
I rather thought the sentiment was pretty generally in your 
favor, though. I told them that Dave Beecham would have 
bid off a bigger contract than he could fill if he’d undertaken 
to thrash you with that pointer.” 

^’I’m much obliged, Ben. It does a fellow good to find out 
who his friends are once in a while. Are you all alone 
tonight?” 

"Yes, and rushed to death, too. Jim Farris was coming 
in to tend post office for me, but he got word just before 
supper that his aunt at Bodge Mills was very sick, and he 
and his mother have driven over there.” 

"I’ll tend it for you.” 

"Well, I’d like to have you first-rate, if it wouldn’t be too 
much trouble.” 

"Not a bit. I’d like to do it.” 

"Very well, go in behind there. The letters and papers 
are in those alphabetical pigeon-holes. The boxes are all 
labeled on the inside. It won’t take you long to get the hang 
of them.” 

"All right, don’t tell anyone I’m here. Let them find it 
out for themselves,” answered Raymond, as he passed around 
the counter. 

From his position behind the boxes he was able to hear 
what was said in the store without being seen. For half an 
hour business was quiet. After that it grew more brisk and 
soon a good-sized group was gathered about the roaring 
Franklin stove that stood in the center of the store. A very 
little of its heat was suflScient to thaw out the various mem- 
bers of the assemblage, and politics, the crops, religion and 
various other topics were casually touched upon, eliciting a 


AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND’S STORE. 


75 


varied range of opinion. Then followed a very earnest dis- 
cussion upon the relative merits of certain pugilists, in the 
course of which Bill Gleason changed the subject somewhat 
by remarking that the Corner was developing a young man 
who Tvould ''whip the whole of them in time.” 

"Who is that?” demanded several of the group in chorus. 

"Young Raymond Benson. They say he and Mr. Beecham 
had quite a set-to this afternoon. I guess if the teacher had 
pressed matters much further, there’d have been a good-sized 
row. Blamed if I don’t believe the boy could lay him out in 
a hand to hand tussle. He’s a wiry young fellow, and quick 
as a cat.” 

"I tell you that boy has had a bad influence round here,’’ 
interposed Ezra Johnston. "He’s a bad one, and all of the 
others are willing to follow his lead into any kind of mischief. 
I hope he’ll go home now and stay there.” 

"I guess you’re thinking of the time he and young Brown 
gave you that Highland tumble in the school yard, Ezra,’’ 
said Joel Webber with a comical wink at the rest of the 
group. 

A loud laugh followed this remark, to Ezra’s very evident 
discomfiture. 

"Well, no decent boy would have been playing such pranks 
on a man of my years,” he growled. 

"You’re right, Ezra,” said Simon Dart. "The young men 
of today are altogether too forward. They don’t know their 
place. Nobody can teach them anything. They know a 
good deal more than their elders, but not enough to treat 
them respectfully. If that boy was mine I’d give him a 
thrashing that he’d remember for one long day, now I assure 
you.” 


76 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Perhaps you would, and then again it's possible you 
wouldn’t,” muttered Raymond to himself in his retreat behind 
the post-office boxes. 

If there was any man about the Corner most heartily dis- 
liked by the boys of the place, it was Simon Dart. He kept 
the only store in town beside that of Squire Copeland. His 
stock was a most miscellaneous mixture, and he had the repu- 
tation of giving astonishingly good bargains — a merit that 
went a good ways with Corner people ; otherwise his trade 
would not have been a very extensive one. Simon was not a 
very prepossessing person. He was tall, lank and bony. 
His lips were thin, and he spoke with a sharp, nasal twang 
that always carried with it the effect of a whine. Simon lived 
alone. It was said that he had been married once, but that 
his wife lost no time in separating from him when she had 
had opportunity fully to find him out. There were also 
rumors that he had been engaged in some rather shady tran- 
sactions, but there was no proof of this. The report had 
probably grown out of a strange intimacy which appeared to 
exist between him and old Pete Atkins. Be that as it may, 
Simon had few friends at the Corner, especially among the 
rising generation. 

Raymond heard his response to Ezra Johnston with a 
strong impulse to come out from behind the counter and take 
him by the throat. He did not blame Ezra. He had played 
the old fellow a rough joke, and was not surprised to find 
that he still felt sore over it. Simon’s remarks, however, 
appeared to him entirely gratuitous and uncalled for. 

"I’m rather inclined to believe, my good man, that you 
would more than have your hands full, if you undertook that 
job,” said Joel with a warmth that told Raymond that he had 


AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND’S STORE. 


77 


at least one friend in the group about the stove. It was evi- 
dent that the big fellow had not forgotten the good turn the 
boy had done him in helping dispose of Cobe Hersom’s bear. 
Simon made no reply to this remark, but taking the articles 
which Ben had procured for him, and which had occasioned 
his visit to Squire Copeland’s, left the store. When he was 
gone, the conversation was resumed by Amos Dole. 

"I tell you, young Benson isn’t the worst boy in this town, 
by any means,” he said. "I know he’s mischievous, and con- 
siderable of a practical joker. But he doesn’t drink or smoke 
or swear, and nobody ever knew him to lie. Mr. Beecham 
told me himself, not more than a week ago, that he had never 
known a more truthful boy. No matter what mischief was 
going on, he was always sure that if he could get anything at 
all from young Benson, it would be the truth. lie could 
never get a word out of him, however, that would betray any 
of his companions.” 

"That’s it, exactly,” said Joel. "When any pranks were 
played, Raymond would own up to his part in them every 
time. He carried all his sins on his own shirt front. The 
other boys haven’t been as scrupulous. The result has been 
that Raymond has had to stand the blame for pretty much all 
the mischief that’s gone on about the High School this fall. I 
don’t think he’s had a fair show — I swow I don’t.” 

"There is probably some truth in what you say, Joel,’’ 
remarked Deacon Graves, who had hitherto been a silent lis- 
tener to the conversation. "The boy undoubtedly has good 
habits. It is probable, too, that he has been suspected of full 
as much mischief as he’s been concerned in, but for all that, 
he hasn’t be^^un to ^et his deserts. The worst fault I find 
with Mr, Beecham is that he is altogether too easy. He 


78 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


should have kept a firmer hand. It would have been a whole- 
some lesson for young Benson if he’d given him a sound 
thrashing.” 

These words made Raymond wince. Deacon Graves was 
one of the most respected citizens of the Corner, a man of 
stern mould, old-fashioned in his views of life,- but of sterling 
character. Raymond felt that he had spoken with some truth, 
and even the rejoinder of David Clay did not altogether reas- 
sure him. 

"You’re partly right. Uncle Graves,” said the selectman, 
slowly, "but you mustn’t forget that boys will be boys. I 
remember that my grandfather used to say years ago that he’d 
rather have a bad boy than no boy at all.” 

"Well, I think he was wrong. To my mind a bad boy is 
worse than no boy.” 

"The good boys are getting to be powerful scarce in this 
here town,” chimed in a lugubrious voice which Raymond 
recognized as that of Dean Percy, who owned a farm near his 
grandfather’s. "I tell you, it’s a mighty hard thing for us 
that we live so near the Canada line. I was astonished to see 
how many of our young men were drunk at the town picnic 
last Fourth of July. Some of them from the very best fami- 
lies in town, too. Why, there was brother William’s boy 
Amos among them. We always supposed there wasn’t a 
steadier boy in the whole county. I can tell you his father 
and mother felt like death about it. Amos told them he’d 
never touched liquor before, and solemnly promised he never 
would again. I think he means it, too, but it shows what a 
pretty pass we’re coming too, when boys like him get to 
drinking. I tell you that old Pete Atkins is a curse to this 
town. He’s ruined an awful number of our young men. If 


AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND’S STORE. 


79 


he keeps on, there’ll come a time when we sha’n’t Inn e any 
good ones left, and it will be pretty hard rubbing for us old 
fellows to keep the wolf from the door and get a little money 
to pay our taxes.” 

"You’d be a happy man. Dean, if it were not for the fear 
of want and taxes,” laughed Joel. "It’s amusing in a rich 
man like you, when everyone knows you’ve got mortgages 
and government bonds and railroad stocks hid away that the 
assessors have never been able to get hold of. To be sure, 
it's all clear gain for you, but it comes out of the town and 
makes it harder for us poor fellows whose property all has to 
come in for assessment.” 

"It’s a lie !” retorted Dean hotly. "I don’t own any bonds, 
or moidgages or railroad stocks. I haven’t got but plaguey 
little, anyway, and all that’s taxed to death.” 

"There, don’t get sweaty under the collar,” said Joel in a 
conciliatory tone. "Didn’t you know I was only joking?” 

"Well, I don’t see anything to joke about in the tax ques- 
tion.” 

"You’re too sensitive on the subject, that’s all ; but we’ll 
drop it. I agree with you perfectly about old Pete Atkins. 
The town ought to be rid of him; still, I don’t know many 
people hereabouts that wouldn’t rather have his good will 
than his ill will. Uncle Graves and Mr. Clay can bear testi- 
mony to that.” 

"I don’t make any charges,” said the selectman. 

"Neither do I,” added the Deacon. 

"Of course you don't,’* rejoined Joel, "but everyone knows 
you have your suspicions. I have serious doubts, though, 
whether either of you would feel any worse than the rest of 
us if old Pete Atkins were to leave town.” 


80 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"He’ll never go until there is something like concert of 
action among the citizens,” said the Deacon bitterly. "One 
or two men can’t rid the place of him.” 

"Yes,” said Joel, "that’s just the point. Public sentiment 
is altogether too cowardly. Whats everybody’s business is 
apt to be nobody’s business, especially if there is any danger 
in engaging in it. Judge Foster is right when he says there 
is law enough on the statutes of Maine to crush out the liquor 
traffic, if it were only enforced. But there’s the rub. It 
never will be enforced in a town where the citizens follow a 
'hands off’ policy, and where every man who condemns the 
business waits for somebody else to put a stop to it.” 

"You’d make a first-class temperance lecturer, Joel,” 
remarked Ezra Johnston dryly. 

"Perhaps I w^ould. I think I could talk a little horse sense 
on the subject, and I shouldn’t want a greater source of 
inspiration than an audience of fellows like you.” 

Ezra was about to make an angry rejoinder, but checked 
himself and said nothing. 

"Speaking of the temperance question,” said Amos Dole, 
"do you remember the argument that young Raymond Ben- 
son made on the subject last winter on the closing night of 
the Corner Lyceum ? I tell you that boy’s smart, no matter 
what they say of him. I believe he'll be heard from some 
day, if he lives. The question was : 'Resolved that Prohibi- 
tion does more to restrict the liquor traffic than High License.’ 
Young Benson had the affirmative and Mr. Beecham the neg- 
ative. Now don’t you believe that the question wasn’t ably 
handled. I think I never listened to a more interesting dis- 
cussion.” 

"Yes, I remember that,” said the Deacon. “I thought, too, 


AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND’s STORE. 


81 


that young Benson had a great deal the best of the argument. 
If I remember correctly, the members so decided by an over- 
whelming majority, when the question was put to vote.” 

” He’s a natural speaker, and there isn’t a young person in 
town who can get up so good a lyceum paper.” 

" Do you suppose he’ll go back to the High School ?” asked 
the Deacon. 

”No, he’s too proud. Besides, I don’t believe Mr. Beecham 
would let him, after what has happened.” 

"Halloo !” said Mr. Clay, "here it is nine o’clock. lYhere 
in the world has this evening gone to?” 

"Charge it up to Square Copeland’s Corner Debating Club,” 
answered Joel. "By the way, where are Cobe Hersom and 
Bill Gleason? I don’t remember to have been in here of an 
evening this year without seeing one or both of them.” 

"They are on a hunting trip to Letter K,” replied the 
Deacon. "I expect they are after that catamount,” he added. 
But the well-worn joke failed to awaken any response. One 
by one the group called for their mail, which, at a sign 
from Raymond, was handed them by Ben, and took their 
departure. Soon the two boys were left alone in the store. 

“AYell, how did you make it?” was Ben’s query, as he 
pulled down the curtains preparatory to locking up. 

"Oh, first rate. I found the mail all right when it was 
called for.” 

" Did many people recognize you ? ” 

"Yes, quite a number did, but none of those in that crowd 
about the stove. Deacon Graves and Sime Dart called for 
their mail when they first came in, but I was satisfied from 
their conversation later on that both of them took me for 
Jim Farris.” 


82 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"You had a pretty good chance to get a view of yourself 
in the looking-glass of public opinion, didn’t you?” 

"Yes, and perhaps I shall be able to take my own measure 
better as a result of it. They said some pretty harsh things, 
and some pleasant things, of me. I’m inclined to believe that 
I was more deserving of the former than of the latter.” 

"Bosh, boy. You are altogether too modest.” 

"I mean it, Ben. I couldn’t take any part in the talking 
back there, but I kept up considerable of a thinking.” 

"Well, you found you had some pretty good friends, didn’t 
you?” 

"Yes, and I can tell you, old fellow, I appreciated them. 
I realized more fully than ever before the truth of the old 
saying that 'a friend in need is a friend indeed.’” 

"Where are you going?” demanded Ben, as Raymond began 
to pull on his overcoat. 

"Down to Uncle Weston’s.” 

"No, you’re not. You’re going to stop with me. Your 
cousin Dave will call at the store tomorrow to take some 
things to Bolton for us. You can go home from here with 
him. It would be foolish for you to think of walking clear out 
to the Weston Farm tonight.” 

It did not need very much urging to persuade Raymond to 
accept Ben’s invitation, and a little later he was sleeping 
peacefully in the folds of one of mother Copeland’s finest 
feather beds, oblivious of the day and its excitements. 


RAOIOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS’S DOG. 


83 


CHAPTER VI. 

RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS’S DOG. 

TELL you, Raymond, if Beecham had hit you, I should 
have taken a hand in the scrimmage myself.” It was Dave 
Weston who spoke, and the way he shook the heavy whip he 
held Ml his hand showed that he meant what he said. Ray- 
mond was a prime favorite of his cousin’s, with whom the 
question of right or wrong would not have been very carefully 
weighed when the matter of his chastisement was involved. 
The two boys were on their way from the Corner with a 
double team load of potatoes, which Mr. Weston was sending 
to a market at Bolton. 

know you would, Dave,” was Raymond’s response to 
this declaration of loyalty. "But I’m glad you didn’t. I’m 
sorry the trouble occurred. I haven’t done the right thing 
this term. If I didn’t deserve a whi}iping then, there were 
lots of other times when I did. I dread to meet grandfather 
and grandmother. Do you suppose they know of it?” 

"Yes, father was there last evening and they had heard the 
whole story.” 

" What did they say ? ” 

"He said they hardly mentioned the matter, but he thought 
they felt worse about it than they cared to show.” 

And then the conversation changed. Dave told his cousin 


84 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


with evident elation how it had ])een decided that he was to 
leave in November to attend the Krampton Academy. 

"I’ve gone about as far as I can here,” he said, "and I shall 
have lots of advantages there that I couldn’t get in an}" other 
way.” 

"I wish I were going with you,” said Raymond. 

"I wish you were. Don’t you suppose your grandfather 
Benson would let you?” 

"T don’t know. I’m afraid he won’t want to trust me 
away from home after what happened yesterday.” 

"Oh, well, I don’t believe that will make any difference 
with him, when he knows all the circumstances.” 

Raymond made no reply. They had reached the brow of a 
long hill. Beyond this was a shorter one with a stretch of table 
land on the top, upon which was located the Benson home- 
stead. How familiar everything looked to Raymond. The 
plain story-and-a-half red house with its long white ell held 
many pleasant memories for him, as did the large yellow barn 
which stood near it, and in which he had enjoyed many a 
pleasant romp when in younger days he had come from 
Bangor to spend his summer vacations upon the old place. 
Through the valley at the bottom of the little hill ran the best 
trout brook in the town. Raymond well remembered the 
first speckled beauty he had pulled from it, when a very 
small boy, with a bent pin for a hook and a line of l)raided 
linen thread. He had not stopped to catch a second one, but 
proudly grasping his trophy with both hands had hastened to 
the house to exhibit it, with shouts of triumph, to his admir- 
ing relatives. Since then he had caught many a handsome 
string from its waters, following it through the woods on 
lowery days to the Dead Water some eight miles below ; but 


rayjviond shoots pete Atkins’s dog. 


85 


no other trout had ever "iven him such an exultant feelino: 
of satisfaction as he derived from the first. 

When the hoys drove into the yard grandfather Benson 
was standing in the door of the little red horse-stable that 
faced the road from the rear of the ell. He was a man over 
whom time had passed lightly. Although nearly seventy 
years of age, his eye was still bright, and his step vigorous. 
He was of average height, a broad shouldered and square 
chested man, who, in his day, had ranked among the most 
powerful in the town. His face was always smoothly shaven, 
and the practice gave a peculiar look of boyishness to his 
round, full countenance. The square mouth and firm chin, 
however, betokened more than ordinary decision and strength 
of character. Grandfather Benson’s eyes were blue, and 
always carried a bright, cheerful expression that gave the 
effect of a smile to his features. Everybody knew what a 
generous heart he had, and there was not a needy person in 
town who had not, at some time, been kindly remembered 
by him. 

Raymond never forgot an incident that had happened years 
before. Grandfather Benson had sold a fine yoke of cattle 
and was planning a number of little comforts that he and his 
good wife would get with the hundred dollars he had received 
for them. That very night, however, a friend drove up to 
the house and told him that a fellow townsman had just been 
burned out, and was left with a wife, and a number of small 
children, in most destitute circumstances. The story brought 
the tears of sympathy to the good man’s eyes, and hastening into 
the house he returned with the hundred dollars and insisted 
that the whole should be given to his unfortunate neighbor. 
He and grandmother Benson got idong that winter without a 


8G THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 

number of things they had hoped to have, but both declared 
they felt happier for it. 

"Plalloo ! ” he cried, coming forward as the boys drew up in 
front of the kitchen door. "I’m glad to see you. I was just 
thinking of harnessing up and going to the Corner. Mother 
felt some worried about you.” 

"Didn’t Ned tell her I was going to stop over?” asked 
Eaymond. 

"No, he hasn’t been here. I knew that must be it, though. 
I told her you were at your Uncle Weston’s.” 

"I’m glad to see you, Kaymoiid,” said grandmother Benson, 
a white-haired, sweet-faced little woman, as she met him at 
the door. "I was afraid we had lost you.” 

Eaymond noted a little tremor in her voice, and as she 
kissed him he thought he saw a tear glisten for a moment in 
her eye, but she brushed it resolutely away. 

"Have you any errands for me in Bolton?” asked Dave, as 
he paused for a moment on the threshold. 

"I don’t think of any,” answered Mrs. Benson. "I wish, 
though, you’d stop here on your way home. I’ve some things 
I should like to send your mother.” 

"All right,” responded Dave, and a moment later he was 
out of sight over the brow of the hill. 

"Have you anything for me to do today, grandfather?” 
asked Eaymond. 

"Not today. You need a little vacation,” was the kindly 
response. "Tomorrow I am going to begin blasting those 
rocks in the front field. It’s the only place on the whole farm 
where I can’t run a mowing machine, and, as luck will have 
it, comes right on the road front. The farm doesn’t show at 
first sight for anything near what it is worth. I’m going to 


RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS’S DOG. 


87 


have two or three of the boys about here help me tomorrow. 
So you had better take a day off and go hunting or fishing. 
I scared up a partridge on the birch ridge the other day. It’s 
my opinion there’s a flock of them somewhere round there.” 

Raymond went to his room and was soon dressing himself 
in the strong suit and cowhide boots which he kept exclu- 
sively for hunting and fishing trips. It was a room after his 
own heart. Raymond called it his den. It looked down 
upon the brook, and through the open windows he could 
hear the rippling of its waters on summer nights. In one 
corner was a long cabinet filled with birds of nearly all the 
native varieties. They had been shot and mounted by Ray- 
mond himself, who was a taxidermist of no mean ability. 
Over one window hung a fine Winchester rifle and over the 
other a beautiful double-barrelled, breech-loading shot gun. 
Above these were several handsome jointed fishing rods in 
neat canvas cases. On the wall at the head of the bed two 
snow-shoes wxre crossed, a leather game bag serving as a 
center piece. From this was suspended an embossed leather 
sheath, containing a beautiful hunting knife, which Raymond 
always took with him on his sporting trips. The two bottom 
drawers in the large, old-fashioned bureau were filled with a 
fine collection of steel traps of various sizes, and many a pelt 
had their owner secured by means of them. These were only 
a few of the treasures that the den contained. No expense 
had been spared to make Raymond happy and contented 
while with his grandparents, and scarcely a month passed 
that he did not receive some new and substantial token of 
loving remembrance from his relatives at Bangor. 

"I’ve been used a good deal better than I deserve,” he mut- 
tered to himself as, shot gun in hand, he tramped along the 


88 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


birch rido^e on orrandfatlier Benson’s wood lot about half an 
hour later. "Now most fellows would have got a pretty 
thorough dressing down, coming home under such circum- 
stances as I did ; but neither grandfather nor grandmother 
have referred to it at all. If I live, I’ll show them that I 
mean to turn over a new leaf. Fll — .” 

Raymond’s meditations were cut short by the sharp whir of 
a partridge which flew up almost under his feet. In a 
moment his gun was at his shoulder and a well directed shot 
brought the bird to the ground. Hardly had he stowed it 
away in his game bag before he was startled by the report of 
a gun near him, and a monient later Ned Grover came in 
sight from the opposite side of the ridge. 

"Halloo, Raymond,” he shouted. "Glad to see you. I 
thought that first shot must have come from you. What did 
you get?” 

Raymond exhibited the partridge. 

"That’s a beauty,” exclaimed Ned, "and shot through the 
head, too. Did you take it on the wing?” 

"Yes.” 

"Well, that’s what I call a rattling good shot. Do you 
remember the first time you and I ever went . partridge hunt- 
ing, old fellow?” 

"Well, I don’t think I shall forget it right away,” laughed 
Raymond. "You had an old horse pistol that wouldn’t kill 
anything in front of it, but was terribly dangerous in other 
directions. I had a little single-barrelled shot gun, with the 
ramrod broken off* so short that every time I drove it home I 
had to turn my gun over to get it out of the barrel. Sam 
Eaton was with us, and was the only one decently armed. 
He had a double-barrelled, breech-loading shot gun. We 


RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS’S DOG. 


89 


didn’t have any luck at all till almost dusk, when we scared 
up a flock of partridges on the shores of Timbric Lake. It 
was in the edge of Brown’s back clearing, and they flew into 
the tall fir trees just behind it. I went in and shot one. 
There was another in the same tree, but it never offered to fly. 
It evidently thought it was hidden. You tried your old horse 
pistol on it, but missed by more than a rod. I was hurrying 
to reload, but it was slow work with my short ramrod. 
Meanwhile Sam had shot two partridges further down in the 
woods. There was another one there, but he left it, and 
coming up where we were, shot the one we were after. Then 
he went down where he was first, and got the remaining one 
there. When we counted up the spoils, Sam had four part- 
ridges and we had one. Weren’t we mad boys, though?” 

"Well, I guess we were. I remember how we considered 
in whispers whether we hadn’t better jump on Sam suddenly, 
give him a sound thrashing and take two of his partridges 
away. But as he had a gun in his hands, we thought it would 
be a dangerous undertaking. So we let him go, with a vow 
never to be caught gunning with him again.” 

"AYell, I guess we’ve kept it, haven’t we?” asked Kay- 
mond. 

"AYell, I know I have,” answered Ned. "See here, old 
fellow, did you bring any dinner? It’s nearly one o’clock, 
and I expected to be home by noon.” 

"So did I. This partridge is the only thing I have in the 
eatable line.” 

"AYell, I have five more. Let’s build a fire and roast a 
couple for dinner ; then we can put in as much of the after- 
noon here as we want to.” 

Kaymond readily assented to this, and soon two partridges 


90 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


were sizzling on the spits in front of a blazing camp fire, 
while the boys, stretched out on a soft bed of boughs, 
indulged in reminiscences of old hunting expeditions. 

''Do you remember the time we went down to Amos Dole’s 
lumber camp on Bower Brook last winter?” asked Ned. 

"Well I guess I do. Jim Farris and Elmer Cole were with 
us. We all had single-barrelled, muzzle loading shot guns. 
I never saw partridges so thick before, and never expect to 
again. We all got one except Jim, who missed his. When 
we loaded again we found that Elmer, who had the only box 
of caps in the party, had lost it through a hole in his 
pocket.” 

"That was a terrible disappointment to us,” said Ned, "and 
as if to aggravate the matter, we kept stumbling on more 
partridges the further we went along the 'tote’ road.” 

"Do you remember how you and I tried to substitute 
matches for caps?” added Raymond. "You got a good aim 
at a partridge in a tall fir and after considerable trouble I 
succeeded in touching the gun off with a match, but you 
couldn’t hold it steadily enough, and we didn’t come within a 
rod of the mark.” 

"Yes,” said Ned. "We felt pretty sore over it, but we had 
to give up the idea of doing any more shooting that trip. We 
forgot all about that, though, when we got to the camp.” 

"What a good time we had,” said Raymond, "with Jim 
Farris playing the violin and the men having a break down 
on the camp floor ! What a dinner, too ! Do you know, I 
don’t believe anything ever tasted so good to me as those 
baked beans?” 

"Yes,” laughed Ned. "It was not so much the dinner, 
though, as the appetites we brought to it. How we should 


RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS’S DOG. 


91 


turn up our noses at home, at beans swimming in pork fat, 
and strong tea sweetened with molasses ! ” 

"You are right, old fellow. It isn’t so much what we have 
in this life as the spirit in which we use it, that gives us our 
pleasures.” 

By this time the partridges were done, and although the 
boys had no salt with which to season them , they nevertheless 
ate them with a hearty relish and voted them a dinner tit for 
a king. After it was over, they resumed their hunting, and 
when they parted on the county road at dusk, al)out a mile 
from Mr. Benson’s, each had a well-filled game bag. 

The darkness settled down rapidly, but a myriad stars lit up 
the night. It would have made little difference to Raymond, 
however, if there had been none. He was thoroughly familiar 
with every inch of the road and could have found his way 
over it on the darkest night. Absorbed in his own thoughts, 
he walked briskl}^ along, entirely oblivious of his surround- 
insrs. As he neared the lono^ hill that hid from view the 
smaller one beyond, upon which stood grandfather Benson’s 
house, he was aroused from his reflections by the rumble of a 
heavy wagon ascending the opposite slope. 

"Somebody with a late start from the Corner,” he thought, 
continuing briskly on his way. A few moments later, as he 
came upon the brow of the hill, he was startled by a low 
growl, and found a large English mastiff blocking his path. 
Raymond attempted to pass him, when, with a sudden jump, 
the dog buried his sharp teeth in his boot leg. Nothing but 
the heavy leather and the thick folds of his hunting trousers 
saved him from a badly mangled leg. With a startled cry he 
vainly endeavored to shake off the savage brute, which clung 
to him tenaciously. The impulse of fear was succeeded by 


92 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


one of anger. Quickly swinging his gun from his shoulder, 
he placed the muzzle in the brute’s ear and pulled the trigger. 
A sharp yelp followed the report, and the dog rolled over in 
the road, dead. 

By this time the heavy team had arrived upon the scene. 
A tall man stood up in it, waving a heavy whip in his hand. 

” What do you think you’re shooting at ? ” demanded a deep 
voice angrily. 

"I shot at a doo' that ouoht to have been killed long ago,” 
responded Raymond hotly. 

"If you trouble that dog. I’ll take it out of your hide,” said 
the man fiercely, as he jumped from the wagon and strode 
excitedly forward. With a feeling of dismay Raymond rec- 
ognized old Pete Atkins. The feeling passed away immedi- 
ately, however. The anger Raymond had felt against the 
dog was transferred with interest to the master. He felt 
strong enough to whip ten men like old Pete. 

"Perhaps you’d better be about it, then,” he answered defi- 
antly. "The dog is dead.” 

"Did you shoot that dog, you young scoundrel?” gasped 
Pete in an incredulous tone. 

"That’s exactly what I did. There he lies. He will never 
try to make a supper oft* me again.” 

"Pll give you something to remember this l)y, my young 
])antam,” said Pete in a voice choked with rage, as he took a 
step forward. The sharp click of a gun hammer brought him 
to a sudden stop. 

"What are you doing?” he demanded. 

"Getting ready for trouble, if you insist on it,” replied 
Raymond coolly. 

"You don’t mean to say you'd shoot me, do you?” 



The sharp click of a gun hammer brought him to a sudden stop (Page 92^ 



















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RAYMOND SHOOTS PP^TE ATKIXS’s DOG. 


93 


^'’VVell, that depends. If you touch me with that whip, I’ll 
shoot you with as little compunction as I shot that dog. I’m 
not in a mood to trifle, just at present.” 

There was something in Raymond’s tone that old Pete did 
not like. The boy evidently meant what he said, and 
although Pete was far from being a coward physical!}^, he had 
no desire to furnish a target for a boy who had just given such 
practical proof of his ability and readiness to shoot. 

"You haven’t seen the end of this affair,” he hissed fiercely. 
" The day will come when you’ll wish you had steered clear of 
Pete Atkins.” 

"Well, I don’t fear him or his dogs, either,” answered Ray" 
mond. 

"The day may come, you impudent young upstart, when 
you wdll sing a different tune,” sneered Pete, as he climbed 
back upon his team. 

"Very likely,” responded Raymond, with exasperating 
coolness. "I shouldn’t want to confine myself to one song 
always.” 

Pete made no reply, but striking his horses a sharp blow 
with the whip, continued on down the hill. 

"It was fortunate for me that the old fellow didn’t know 
that neither barrel of my gun was loaded,” muttered Raymond 
to himself, as he pursued his way toward home. "I used the 
last cartridge on that dog. I flatter myself, though, that I 
played a very handsome bluff with Peter. He didn’t have 
nerve enough to try that whip on me. If he had, I think I 
should have hit him at least one or two wipes with my gun 
stock. I didn’t like the old fellow’s tone, though, when he 
made that last threat. He doesn’t usually make idle ones. 
The town has had proof enough of that. I think he means 


94 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


mischief. If I should catch him prowling about our place, I 
— well, it wouldn’t be well for him, that’s all,” and Kaymond 
patted his gun signiticantly to give emphasis to his reflections. 
"I guess I won’t say anything about this to the folks,” he 
mused. "It would only give them needless worry.” 

"You are rather late,” said grandmother Benson as she met 
him shortly after at the kitchen door. "I began to feel 
worried about you. I have kept your supper warm, though. 
What success did you have? Why, that is splendid. I’m 
sure. I guess we shall not want for a dinner tomorrow,” she 
added, as Raymond displayed the contents of his well filled 
game bag. 

Raymond ate his supper in silence, and then followed his 
grandmother into the old fashioned sitting room where grand- 
father Benson sat before the roaring open fire, with the well 
worn family Bible in his hands, preparatory to conducting 
evening prayers, as had been his custom for many years. He 
had never permitted anything to interfere with this, and all 
who had lived beneath his roof had recognized it as a regular 
feature of the household life. Tonight, in his quiet, earnest 
voice, he read the story of the prodigal son. Then, closing 
the Holy Book, he ofiered up a simple, but fervent prayer 
that all who had wandered astray might come back again to 
the bountiful forgiveness of their Father’s home. It always 
seemed to Raymond that no other man’s prayers were like 
grandfather Benson’s — so simple, so earnest, so heart-felt. 
Tonight he was conscious that his grandfather had him in 
mind, both in his reading and his petition. For a time after 
the service he sat in thoughtful silence, then asked abruptly: 

"Why is it, grandfather, that neither you nor grandmother 
havcHsaid a word to me about my trouble at the High School?” 


RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKIXS’S DOG. 


95 


We thought it best not to, my boy. Some lessons are bet- 
ter learned without a teacher. The school of experience has 
graduated some of the best scholars in the world.” 

"I think I catch your meaning,” answered Raymond grate- 
fully. "I know I acted disgracefully, but I am determined to 
turn over a new leaf.” 

” That’s a good resolution, my boy. I hope you will stick 
to it,” responded Mr. Benson, and from that time the subject 
was never alluded to again in Raymond’s presence by either 
him or his wife. 

”Did ever a fellow have such a good home as mine?” 
thought Raymond, as he lay in his bed that night. "Grand- 
father and ofrandmother have faith in me, and I will be man 
enough hereafter not to abuse their confidence.” 


9(3 


THE S3IUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER Vll. 

DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS. 

For a few days after he left the High School Raymond was 
busily engaged in work about the farm. Grandfather Benson 
had Byer Ames and Dudley Rich, two neighbors’ sons, to 
assist him in blowing up the large rocks in the front field. 
Raymond and he had about all they could do to haul away 
the pieces with the drag and the span of heavy farm horses. 

The work was not without its pleasures. Byer was a dry 
fellow, and his droll sayings were a constant source of amuse- 
ment. Many of them were directed at Dudley, or, as he was 
familiarly called, "Dud.” That individual, however, bore 
them with the utmost good nature. He was a great strap- 
ping fellow over six feet in height and weighing more than 
two hundred pounds. Although Dud had muscles that 
would have done credit to a Hercules, and fists that could 
have knocked down an ox, he was, nevertheless, as timid as 
a child. He rarely ventured far from home alone after dark, 
and was constantly fearing a visitation from burglars, though 
he was unable to say what they could expect to find among 
his possessions to repay them for such trouble. 

Raymond remembered with a twinge of remorse how he 
had frightened the big fellow half out of his wits during the 
Indian devil scare by jumping out at him after dark from the 


DUD HAS A VISITATION FK03I BURGLARS. 


97 


alder bushes beside the brook. He had never known before 
how fast Dud could run when he was doing his very best. 
That night he had been forced to sleep with the victim of his 
joke, who was in a perfect tremor of terror. When Kay- 
mond saw how much he really suffered, his conscience smote 
him, and he made a vow^ never again to amuse himself by 
})laying upon another’s fears. It was a good resolution, but 
I am sorry to say that it had not always been scrupulously 
kept. 

Among Raymond’s most treasured possessions was a log 
cam}) that stood about a quarter of a mile from the house, in 
the cedar swamp that skirted the l)rook. He had built it 
alone at the expense of no small amount of labor. It was 
carefully chinked, and was provided with an old cook stove. 
In it Raymond had spent many a happy hour with Ned 
Grover and other companions. 

One night, when the front field Avas nearly cleared of its 
boulders, Raymond returned from Cobe Hersom’s shop at the 
Corner, where he had been to have some drills sharpened, 
and found the boys missing. 

"Where are Byer and Dud?” he asked of grandfather 
Benson. 

"Ned Grover came here, and they all went doAvn to your 
camp in the SAvampmore than an hour ago,” was the response. 

"Did they have any guns Avith them?” 

"No, I guess they just Avent doAvn there for a social chat.” 

Raymond lost no time in putting his horse into the stable. 
Then after a hasty supper, he followed theboystothe SAA^amp.. 
Creeping carefully along, he took a position in the brush pile 
just behind the camp. He could hear the boys within engaged 
in earnest conversation. 


98 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


'"I tell you, Dud, that whole thing was a fake,” insisted a 
voice which Kayinond recognized as Ned’s. "Old man John- 
ston was just far enough over the bay that night to see any- 
thing, from panthers to porcupines.” 

"Well, take it right home to yourself, Ned,” responded 
Dud. "If an Injun devil should follow you five or six miles 
through the woods, don’t you believe you would know it, and 
even if you had been drinking a little, don’t you think it 
would sober you ? ” 

"Well, I never saw any animal of that kind in this county, 
and I’ve ranged the woods about as much as any fellow of my 
age. I don’t believe any sober man ever saw one.” 

"Don’t you believe there is such an animal?” asked Dud 
incredulously. 

"Certainly there is, but not so far east as this. Indeed, 
I doubt if many ever got fui-ther east than New York 
state.” 

"I guess you are wrong there, Ned,” chimed in Byer. 

"I don’t think I am.” 

"AYell, I never took any stock in Ezra Johnston’s yarns, 
but still I think there are catamounts right in this very 
county.” 

" Did you ever see one here ? ” 

"No.” 

"Well, I have never seen a man that has.” 

"But I have,” insisted Byer. "I have met men that had 
not only seen them, but killed them. There are too many 
records of that, Ned, to be laughed or sneered away.” 

"Of course there are, ” said Dud. "I don’t doubt but what 
there are, at least, half a dozen Injun devils in this town 
today ; perhaps there may be one in this very swamp.” 


DUD HAS A VI8ITATIOX FROM BURGLARS. 


99 


" I guess all the Indian devils we ever had departed with 
the noble red man,” laughed Ned. 

At this point Raymond began to sniff the air and give vent 
to low growls, at the same time scratching about vigorously in 
the under brush. 

Exclamations of surprise came from within the camp. 

"AYhat’s that?” demanded Dud in a quaking voice. 

"I guess it’s a lynx,” replied Ned. "They and the foxes 
have been pretty plenty in this swamp since father hauled the 
body of the old bay horse down below here. I’m going to 
set some traps around him tomorrow.” 

"Yes, I guess Ned’s right,” added Byer, but Raymond 
knew from the tone of his voice that he perceived the joke 
and was merely playing a part. 

"I never knew a lynx to act like that,” said Dud tremu- 
lously. "You don’t s’pose it’s an Injun devil, do you?” 

"Indian fiddlesticks!” replied Ned impatiently. "You 
haven’t the sand of a mouse. Dud.” 

"He may not be so much out of the way as you imagine,” 
interposed Byer solemnly. "That’s certainly a larger animal 
than a lynx.” 

" By gracious I I won’t sit side of this door any longer 1 ” 
exclaimed Dud in terrified accents, as Raymond gave a growl 
that was louder and fiercer than any of the others. 

Heavy footsteps across the camp told Raymond that the 
big fellow had retreated to the further end of it. This move 
called forth a hearty laugh from his companions. The growl 
which had so terrified Dud had revealed to Ned, also, the 
nature of the joke that was being played. 

"You’re right, Byer,” he said. "That animal is certainly 
larger than a lynx. We had better take this axe and crow- 


100 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


bar and close in on him. Dud can go ahead Muth the Ian- 
tern.” 

”Not much,” interposed the big fellow vigorously. 
won’t stir a step outside of this camp.” 

"Very well,” said Ned, as he walked toward the door. 
"You stand by th6 opening, Byer, with the axe and I will 
swing the door back. You must be quick and knock it 
over when it comes in, or it might get by us and tackle 
Dud.” 

"You shan’t open that door,” said Dud, and the boys saw 
that he meant business. 

"All right,” responded Byer. "I don’t see but what we 
will have to camp here all night.” 

"Very well, we’ll do that, if necessary, but we won’t take 
any chances with wild animals.” 

At this moment Raymond approached the camp and 
pounded vigorously on the door. 

"Open up there, fellows ! ” he shouted. 

"How are you, boys?” he said, as he entered the camp 
after Ned had lifted the latch. 

"Well, we had given up all hopes of seeing you here to- 
night,” responded Byer. 

" Did you see anything of a wild animal round the camp 
when you came along?” asked Ned. 

"Not a thing.” 

"Well, Dud thinks it was an Indian devil. It kicked up 
considerable racket around here.” 

"Perhaps Raymond can tell us something about it,” said 
Dud, looking at him supiciously. 

" I certainly have seen no wild animal about here tonight,” 
said Raymond with such an honest air of surprise that Dud 






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“ The MUZZLE OF A REVOLVER 


PRESSED AGAINST HIS FOREHEAD” (Page lOl) 




DUD HAS A VISITATIOX FROM BURGLARS. 


101 


mentally concluded that he had been wholly wrong in his sur- 
mises and that a genuine catamount had paid a visit to the 
camp. This opinion was confirmed upon their return home, 
when Raymond showed him by the light of the lantern under 
a scrubby fir the remains of a sheep, which had evidently been 
killed and partially devoured there. None of the boys saw 
fit to tell him, however, that it had been the work of a dog 
which had subsequently paid the penalty of his misdemeanor 
with his life. 

Byer and Raymond slept together in the latter’s room, 
while Dud occupied a small room upon the opposite side of 
the house. So terrified had he been by his visit to the camp, 
that he begged Ned to stay with him all night, and the latter, 
at a nod from Raymond, consented to do so. 

About one o’clock in the morning Dud, whose sleep had 
been disturbed by dreams of Indian devils, was awakened by 
somebody moving about in his room. Straightening up in 
bed, and rubbing his eyes to assure himself that he was really 
awake, he was amazed to see by the light of a dark lantern 
w^hich they carried two masked men busily engaged in examin- 
ing his possessions. The window was open and the top of a 
ladder protruding through it showed how they had gained an 
entrance to the room. Both men were roughly dressed and 
wore black cambric masks. The sight of them was terrifying 
to Dud. He felt the cold sweat start from every pore. He 
was about to shout, when the lantern was suddenly flashed in 
his face. He felt the muzzle of a revolver pressed against his 
forehead, and a hoarse voice hissed in his ear: 

"Not a sound, or I’ll blow your brains out. AVhere are the 
bonds ? ” 

"What bonds?” gasped Dud in a terrified whisper. 


102 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"The government bonds you’ve been hoarding up.” 

"Yes, and those railroad stocks,” interposed the second 
burglar fiercely. 

"But I never owned any bonds or railroad stocks in my life ! ” 
insisted Dud, his amazement getting the better of his fright. 

"See here, you gilded money king, don’t try to deceive us,” 
said the first burglar sternly. 

"Yes, you bloated bond holder, you might just as well dis- 
gorge,” added his companion. 

"For heaven’s sake, gentlemen, don’t shoot,” pleaded Dud, 
tremulously. "I’m telling you the honest truth. I haven’t 
but five dollars in the world. It’s in my pants pocket. Please 
take it and go.” 

"Shall we believe him, Jake?” asked the first burglar. 

"I guess wee’ll have to,” was the response. 

"See here,” continued the first burglar, "do you intend to 
keep quiet while we leave here ? ” 

"Ye-e-e-s.” 

"Well, see that you do. It would be very annoying to 
have to come back and slice your windpipe.” 

"I won’t say a word.” 

"Well, see that you don’t.” 

"Won’t you please leave me my clothes, gentlemen?” 

"What do you say, Jake?” 

"No, we can’t think of it. We want them to wrap the five 
dollars in.” 

"Are they all you have?” asked burglar number one. 

"Yes, all I’ve got here.” 

"Oh, well, you can lie in bed a day or two while they make 
you some new ones,” said Jake. "A gruel diet would be 
good for your trouble.” 


DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS. 


103 


A subdued groan was Dud’s only response. 

When the burglars had crowded his property into an 
ancient carpet bag which they carried, they climbed out of 
the window and disappeared down the ladder. 

As soon as they were out of sight Dud found his voice. 

” Help ! Murder ! Robbers !” he shouted in stentorian tones. 

”Here, wake up! What’s the trouble with you?” asked 
Ned, rolling over and giving him a punch in the ribs. 

"I’ve been robbed. Burglars have been here.” 

’'Nonsense, man I You’ve been dreaming.” 

"No, I hav’n’t, either. There were two burglars in here not 
more than a minute ago, and they’ve taken everything I had.” 

" Why didn’t you yell ? ” 

''How could I when one of them kept a revolver at my 
head?” 

"How often do you have these nightmares?” 

"I tell you it wasn’t a nightmare. I’ve been robbed.” 

"Let me see,” said Ned, as he jumped from the bed. "I 
don’t find any trace of them,” he added, as he groped his way 
to the door, which was partially ajar, and from which he pres- 
ently returned on his hands and knees with a bundle, the con- 
tents of which he carefully spread out on the chair where Dud 
had placed his clothes before retiring for the night. 

"AYhat’s all this noise about?” shouted Mr. Benson from 
the foot of the stairs. 

"I’ve been robbed,” answered Dud. "Burglars have been 
here.” 

" Burglars ? Nonsense ! ” said the old gentleman impa- 
tiently as, light in hand, he entered the room. "You must 
have been dreaming. Better lie on your right side the rest 
of the night.” 


104 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


''I tell you I wasn’t dreaming,” answered Dud indignantly. 

was never wider awake in my life. There were certainly 
two burglars here, and they lugged off all my clothes.” 

"Where did you leave your clothes when you went to bed?’’ 

"On that chair.” 

"Well, here they are now.” 

"My clothes?” gasped Dud incredulously. 

"Yes, your clothes, my boy. You have probably had a 
nightmare. Now turn over on your side, forget all about it 
and go to sleep,” and Mr. Benson shut the door, leaving Dud 
greatly mystified, but not convinced. 

Before descending the stairs he looked in for a moment on 
Baymond and Byer, but both were snoring soundly, appar- 
ently oblivious of the commotion which Dud had created. 
No sooner had Mr. Benson entered his own room, however, 
than a vast change came over them. Their snores ceased, 
and they rolled upon the bed in perfect paroxysms of laughter. 

"Did you ever see the beat of that?” gasped Kaymond. 

" Never. It’s lucky Dud has got his grovdh, or we’d cer- 
tainly have scared him out of it.” 

"What did you do with that ladder?” 

"I threw it down on the ground after we got in here.” 

"Well, we must get up before grandfather does and carry 
it back to the stable.” 

"What shall we say to Dud tomorrow?” 

"Laugh at him, and call it a nightmare.” 

"I shall never forget how he shook when I had that old 
revolver at his head,” said Byer, breaking into another laugh 
at the remembrance. "The fellow was just about frightened 
out of his wits.” 

"Ned got those clothes back in good shape. I heard 


DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS. 


105 


grandfather say they were in the chair. I don’t suppose Dud 
will talk of anything else but this for the next month.” 

But in this Kaymond was mistaken. The big fellow had 
reluctantly, and with no little chagrin, arrived at the con- 
clusion that his experience must have been, after all, a night- 
mare, and not until some time afterward was he known to 
refer to it. 

For several days after this the boys were too busily employed 
in the work of the farm to engage in much mischief, even at 
Dud’s expense. The work was hard, and when night came 
and the chores were done, they were only too glad to go to 
bed. The big rocks in the front field had all been disposed 
of along the edge of the county road where grandfather 
Benson had planned to lay a stretch of wall the following 
spring. The unsightly holes that remained where they had 
been blasted were carefully filled with rich soil and the greater 
portion of the field staked off, to be broken up later on in the 
fall preparatory for the next season’s potato crop. 

"Did you know, Mr. Benson, that you will get very few of 
your apples if you don’t look out ?” said Byer as they sat at 
supper the evening before this work was begun. 

"Why, so?” was the response. 

" Because the apple thieves are as thick and as busy as bees 
this fall. They made a raid on David Clay’s orchard night 
before last, and got over twenty bushels. Last night they 
were at Dean Percy’s and secured about ten bushels. They 
are working this neighborhood pretty strongly just at present.” 

"That last raid was a bad thing for the town,” said Dud, who 
occasionally dropped a dry remark when it was least expected. 

" Why so ?” asked Byer. 

"Dean won’t be able to jiay his taxes this year.” 


106 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


A hearty laugh ran around the table, in which even grand- 
father Benson joined* 

"We musn’t be too hard on Dean, boys,” he said. "For 
all he is such a chronic growler. I’ve found him a most excel- 
lent man and an accommodating neighbor. It is not surpris- 
ing if he feels the loss of his apples. His orchard is not a large 
one and apples are bringing high prices this fall.” 

"Byer’s right, though, grandfather,” said Raymond. "The 
thieves will be coming here next. I wish we had a dog.” 

"I believe I’d a good deal rather have the thieves than the 
dog,” responded grandfather Benson with a grimace. "They 
wouldn’t fill the house full of fleas — that’s one thing in their 
favor.” 

"I don’t understand why you have such a strange prejudice 
against dogs, grandfather,” insisted Raymond. "I believe 
every farmer ought to keep one — not a cur, of course, but a 
good blooded, intelligent dog.” 

"Perhaps so, but I don’t like them, and never could. We 
used to have them on the place here years ago, in fact, were 
scarcely ever without one till the place came into my hands. 
Then I gave the last one away, and have never had another. 
Say what you may, I believe that a dog’s fur is the natural 
home of the flea. There may be dogs without them, but if 
so it has never been my fortune to see any.” 

"It would be useless to argue that point with you,” laughed 
Raymond. "I’ll tell you what we’ll do, though. Byer and I 
will pitch the little tent in the nursery and stand guard there 
tonight.” 

"I guess that would be a good idea,” assented grandfather 
Benson, "but I warn you that it will be pretty cold business 
for you.” 


DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS. 


107 


”Oh, we shan’t mind that. We’ll wrap up warmly.” 

"You mio^ht take mother’s oil stove. With that larjre sheet 
iron oven on, it will throw out considerable heat ; enouo:h to 
warm your hands by, anyway.” 

"That’s a good idea,” assented Raymond. 

"Perhaps Dud would like to stand guard with us,” sug- 
gested Byer slyly. 

"Not a bit of it,’’ said the big fellow promptly. "I didn’t 
hire for that kind of work. Apple thieves are pesky desper- 
ate fellows vrhen they are driven to close quarters. There’s 
been more than one good man laid out by them in the history 
of this town, and I, for one, don’t intend to take any chances 
with them.” 

"That’s a good idea. Dud. A small fellow like you 
wouldn’t stand much show,” said Raymond. 

"There’s one Indian chief you should have been named for. 
Dud,” added Byer. 

"Who is that?” 

" Young-man-afraid-of-his-shadow,” was the response, at 
which Byer and Raymond laughed immoderately. 

Dud made no reply to this pointed allusion to his timidity, 
but picked up a milk pail and started for the barn. "Those 
fellows make me the butt of all their sport,” he muttered. 
"Perhaps I deserve to be laughed at, though. I know I’m a 
coward, but not so big a one, perhaps, as they think I am. 
I’m pretty well convinced in my mind that those burglars 
were none other than Raymond Benson and Byer Ames. If 
I don’t get even with them for that little prank, my name 
isn’t Dudley Rich,’' and the big fellow slammed the barn door 
behind him with a force that showed a settled resolution on his 
part to turn the tables, if possible, upon his tormentors. 


108 


THE SMUGGLE KS OF CHESTNUT. 


"I wouldn’t be so hard on Dudley, boys,” said grandfather 
Benson when the object of his remark had left the house. 
^'There’s such a thing as carrying your fun too far. He’s 
pretty good natured, and will stand considerable chaffing, but 
I think he felt hurt at what you just said to him.” 

"We didn’t mean anything, grandfather,” said Kaymond. 

"We were only in sport,” added Byer. 

"I know that, boys, but some of the cruelest and most cut- 
ting things have been said in fun. It is a good plan to avoid 
sport at the expense of other folks’ feelings.” 

"I never thought Dud was sensitive,” said Raymond. 

"Well, he’s not exceedingly so, but now and then I’ve 
thought the sharp points of your banter have penetrated his 
skin and made him a little sore. You must look out for that, 
boys. Don’t carry your chaffing to excess.” 

"We’ll be more careful in the future, grandfather,” said 
Raymond. "Go up and get my gun, Byer.” 

"What do you want of that?” interposed Mr. Benson, as 
he paused in the door way, milk pail in hand. 

"To take to the orchard.” 

"No, boys, that won’t do at all. If you watch in the 
orchard, you must do so without firearms. I have never 
permitted armed men to stand guard there, and I never 
will.” 

" But what if thieves should come there ? ” 

" Shout at them and drive them off. They won’t lose any 
time in getting away when they find they are watched. It’s 
apples they’re after, not trouble.” 

" But what if they should show fight ? ” 

"There won’t be the slightest possibility of that if you’ll 
only give them a chance to get away.” 


DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS. 


109 


"Well, that’s what I call pretty tame business,” said Ray- 
mond in deep disgust. "Here we are to watch in the 
orchard, and in case a thief comes along all we are permitted 
to do is to yell at him and scare him away, instead of captur- 
ing him.” 

"That’s enough, boys,” said grandfather Benson quietly. 
"All we want to do is to save our apples. Tomorrow I am 
going to let you two begin gathering them. I never have 
wanted to hazard life in my orchard. If men hawe guns in 
their hands, there is too much chance for accident. A neiah- 
bor might be making a cross cut from the back settlement, as 
they frequently do, and would be sure to be taken for a thief. 
No, boys, wee’ll run no chances. If you stay in the orchard 
tonight, you must leave all your firearms at home.” 

After some grumbling Raymond and Byer assented to these 
terms, and a little later had the small A tent pitched in the 
midst of what was called the nursery. This was a thick 
clump of small apple trees on a knoll in the upper part of the 
orchard. Its trees had been raised from the seed, and were 
the only ones on the farm which grandfather Benson had not 
grafted. A large space had been cleared in the center of the 
clump, and here those who watched over the apples had been 
able to pitch a small tent and have it entirely concealed from 
view, while from their elevated post of observation they w^ere 
able to see, on clear nights, all over the orchard, and to hear 
sounds in any part of it. 

When the tent was arranged, and the oil stove, together 
with a good supply of blankets, had been placed in it, the 
boys returned to the house and went to bed. It was not 
necessary for them to begin their vigils before midnight. 
Apple thieves were never known to start in before that hour. 


110 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


where an orchard was so near the house as was that of Mr. 
Benson. The boys were thus enabled to secure several hours 
of good sleep before they began their watch. Grandfather 
Benson consented to sit up till twelve o’clock and w^ake them 
then. Before that he agreed to take a turn or two through 
the orchard himself to make sure that no one got the start of 
them. With these details arranged the boys were soon fast 
asleep in Kaymond’s den. 


4 


A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD, 


111 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD. 

"Well, this is what I call rather frosty business,’ 
grumbled Byer, as he and Raymond stamped u[) and down 
the nursery knoll a few hours later. "I almost believe that 
men who stay out nights like these to steal apples, earn 
them.” 

"Probably a less amount of work in some honest business 
would enable them to buy more apples,” returned Raymond. 
"It isn’t altogether the apples those fellows want, though,” 
he added. "There’s a kind of fascination for them in the 
excitement of the thing.” 

" Well, we sha’n’t be able to fascinate them very much if 
they come here tonight,” said Byer in a tone of disappoint- 
ment. "All we could do would be to yell at them and I 
doubt very much if they would find anything v(‘ry hair-lifting 
in our voices. Now if we only had our guns along we could 
give them some excitement of the real, genuine variety.” 

"That's so, Byer,” assented Raymond, "but I rather guess 
grandfather was right, after all. It would be a dangerous 
thinjj for us to have <juns in our hands here in case some 
neighbor should be cutting across lots. Besides, all we want 
are the apples, and tomorrow you and I will gather the ones 
most exposed to thieves.” 


112 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Shouldn’t you think the officers would look closer after 
these fellows?” 

"Well, I don’t know. There’s very little financial induce- 
ment for them to do so, and, besides, these thieves spread 
their depredations over such a large territory that it’s pretty 
hard to trap them. On night, you see, they are at Mr. Clay’s, 
away in the southwest corner of the town and the very next 
night they turn up at Dean Percy’s, in nearly the opposite 
corner. Tonight they may be in Bodge or Bolton. I haven’t 
very much idea that we shall see anything of them here. We 
live too near Percy.” 

"Yes, I’m inclined to believe this night’s work won’t count 
us much,” said Byer, "but one thing is certain. We’ll find 
the apples here when w^e commence gathering tomorrow.” 

" I don’t believe we shall get a very early start, the way I 
feel now,” yawned Raymond. "I believe I can sleep right 
through till nioht after I’m once in bed.” 

" We ought to get to work right after dinner ; that would 
give us plenty of time for sleep.” 

"Let’s go into the tent and see how much that oil stove 
will thaw us out.” 

Byer eagerly acceded to this suggestion and the two boys 
entered the tent. 

Scarcely were they out of sight before the dark form of a 
man stole softly along the fence on the lower edge of the 
orchard. He was a big strapping fellow and evidently came 
to the orchard prepared for business. Under his arm he car- 
ried a large meal sack and over his shoulder a long pole. He 
was soon lost to sight among the trees in the upper pai-t of 
the orchard. 

"I declare, that stove isn’t much better than nothing at all,” 


A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD. 


113 


said Raymond, as he and Byer emerged, shortly after, from 
the tent and stood again upon the knoll. 

"It will make things swelter in a summer kitchen,” returned 
Byer, "but it isn’t calculated to warm all out doors; that’s 
what it practically amounts to in the tent.” 

"Hark!” exclaimed Raymond abruptly. "Did you hear 
that noise up there in the orchard? There’s someone there, 
Byer, just as sure as you live,” he added excitedly. 

Both boys listened with breathless intentness. Very dis- 
tinctly upon the night air came the sound of someone busily 
at work in the upper part of the orchard. The boys could 
hear the vigorous whacks of his pole among the branches of 
the trees and the thump of the apples as they fell upon the 
ground. 

"It’s a thief, sure’s the W’orld,” said Byer in a whisper 
tremulous with excitement. 

"Yes, and he’s getting in some heavy work,” returned Ray- 
mond. "Oh, if we only had a gun. Had we better sing out 
at him ?” 

"I should say not.” 

"So should I. We want to catch him. We’ll steal upon 
him unawares and take him prisoner. Wouldn’t grandfather 
Benson’s eyes stick out, though, when we brought him in. 
Just think of it.” 

"See here, Raymond,” said Byer nervously, "let’s not be 
rash. I don't w'ant to come to close quarters with those fel- 
lows. There may be a half a dozen of them and they are 
probably armed.” 

"I don’t think from the noise that there’s more than one,” 
answered Raymond. "If that’s the case, two strong fellows 
like you and me ought to take care of him. We can creep 


114 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


up and see just what the situation is. If there’s more than 
one, we’ll only yell at them and scare them off; but if that 
fellow’s alone, as I think he is, we’ll take him into limbo.” 

"Don’t do anything rash, Raymond.” 

"I promise you I won’t ; but I don’t want to miss this oppor- 
tunity. Are you scared, Byer?” 

"Not a bit of it. If we are going to have a fight, I’m in for 
my share of it ; but I don’t want to get into a scrimmage 
where we are sure to get licked.” 

"I’m no more anxious to do that than you are, Byer. 
We’ll look out for that.” 

With this cautious determination the boys stole softly 
toward the upper part of the orchard. As they advanced, 
the operations of the thief became more audible. He was 
pounding about with his pole in a most energetic manner, and 
was evidently determined to make the most of his oppor- 
tunity. 

As the boys came closer to him they dropped upon their 
hands and knees and crept cautiously behind the trees. 
Soon they came within sight of the thief. He was a large, 
powerfully built fellow and the boys viewed his ample pro- 
portions and vigorous movements with not a few misgivings. 

"He’s a tough one,” whispered Byer. "I tell you we are 
going to have our hands full if we tackle him.” 

"The two of us can handle him,” returned Raymond confi- 
dently. "When we jump on him we want to come to close 
quarters at once and clinch with him, one of us on each side 
and behind him, if possible.” 

Just then the moon broke from behind a cloud and shone 
upon the man’s face. It was as black as ebony. 

"Great Scott I It’s a negro,” whispered Byer in amaze- 


A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD. 


115 


ment. ”I don’t know where he could have come from. 
There isn’t a colored family in town.” 

"Very likely he’s from Bolton. There are a number of 
negro families there. I’m inclined to think he won’t give us 
as much troulile as a white man.” 

"Why not?” 

"He won’t have as much backbone.” 

"I don’t know. You take a colored criminal and he’s 
mighty apt to be a tough customer and unpleasantly handy 
with a knife.” 

"Yes, some of them are, but the average negro thief is one 
of the biggest cowards in the world. It doesn’t take much to 
drive him into his shoes, which are generally big enough to 
hold him.’* 

"We shall want to pound this fellow on the shins,” added 
Byer. That’s the tender spot.” 

While this conversation had been going on in subdued 
whispers the apple thief had been making good use of his time. 
With vigorous thrusts of the pole he knocked the big apples 
upon the ground and, picking them up, stowxd them away in 
the bag. 

"It’s lucky he struck that brier tree,” whispered Raymond. 
"It’s just above the new nodhead tree, and grandfather is very 
particular about the apples on that. He will want them gath- 
ered with considerable more care than this fellow is using.” 

"Let’s go slowly,” cautioned Byer. "When he shoulders 
that bag of apples and attempts to walk off with them he will 
have about all he can take care of. That will be the time for 
us to close in on him.” 

"That’s so,” assented Raymond. 

In a few minutes the thief had completed his work. Care- 


116 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


fully tying up the mouth of the sack, he threw it lightly over 
his shoulder and started with it in the direction of the road. 
This was the opportunity that Raymond and Byer had been 
waiting for. Dashing from their concealment, they bore 
down upon him with all possible speed, but before they could 
close with him a most unexpected thing occurred.- Dashing 
his bag of apples to the ground, the thief turned upon them 
with startling rapidity. In a twinkling he had thrown Ray- 
mond upon the ground, and piled Byer on top of him. Then 
he calmly sat down upon them and held them there, despite 
their most frantic and furious struggles. The boys were per- 
fectly powerless in his strong grasp. 

During this vigorous action the thief had not spoken a 
word. So utterly unexpected had his movements been to the 
boys, who had been entirely confident of taking him by sur- 
prise, that they could scarcely credit their senses when they 
found themselves completely in his power. They were not 
the ones, however, to give up such a contest without a desper- 
ate struggle. They kicked and twisted and squirmed in a 
most vigorous and determined manner, but all to no purpose. 
They were as pigmies in the iron grasp of the black giant who 
sat astride them. At last, panting from exhaustion, they 
gave up the struggle, but as soon as they could find their 
voices they used them most vociferously. 

"Help ! Murder ! Help !” they shouted in frantic tones. 

This procedure on their part did not appear to disconcert 
their captor in the least, nor did he make the slightest attempt 
to stop their cries. Indeed a dry chuckle Avhich he gave indi- 
cated that he derived no little satisfaction from their sorry 
plight. No reply came to their cries and as a last resort they 
were forced to parley with their captor. 


A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD. 


117 


"What are you going to do with us?” demanded Raymond, 
but his question received no answer. 

"You’re not going to keep us here all night, are you?” 
asked Byer, but he was no more successful than his companion 
in getting their captor to talk. 

"Perhaps he’s deaf and dumb,” suggested Raymond. 

"Well, he acts that way.” 

"If he is, we’re in a decided fix. I’m in a most uncomfort- 
able position just at present.” 

"So am I.” 

"Let me see if I can’t open his ears. He’s evidently holding 
us here for a ransom. See here, my good fellow,” address- 
ing the negro in a coaxing tone. "You have got the best of 
us. The fight was fair and square. We acknowledge our- 
selves licked. The prize was that bag of apples. You’ve 
won it. Now take it and go. We’ll promise not to molest 
you or call for help.” 

For the first time the negro spoke. 

"Well, that’s perfectly satisfactory, boys, and mighty gen- 
erous besides,” he said in a very familiar voice, as he arose 
from his prisoners and picked up his bag of apples again. 

Raymond and Byer regained their feet and stood staring at 
him in speechless amazement, half convinced that their ears 
had deceived them. They were completely dumlifounded. 
A voice from the dead could not have astounded them more. 
At length they found their voices. 

"Dud Rich I” they gasped in chorus. 

"At your service, boys,” responded the ])ig fellow with a 
burst of laughter so loud and hearty that it seemed to fill the 
whole orchard, and woke a thousand echoes in the cedar 
swamp beyond the ridge. 


118 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Well, Pm dished!” ejaculated Kaymond, when he had 
assured himself beyond a doubt of Dud’s identity. 

"You may knock me down Avith a feather ! ” added Byer. 

"Didn’t have any suspicions who it Avas, did you?” grinned 
Dud, who evidently enjoyed the situation hugely. 

"Not the slightest,” confessed Raymond frankly. "If 
you’d been the Old Nick himself you couldn’t have astonished 
me more. 

"You’ve duped us completely. I’ll acknoAvdedge the corn,” 
admitted Byer with a crestfallen air. 

"What surprises me most of all. Dud, is to find you so far 
away from home at this hour of night,” said Raymond. 

"I really believe I could have gone through fire and flood 
tonight, if it had been necessary, to get the under hold on 
you boys,” laughed Dud good naturedly. "I’ll admit I’m 
naturally nervous. I’ve tried to overcome it, but I can’t. 
It’s a silly thing, I know, and I deserve to be laughed at. 
You felloAvs rasped me a little too hard after supper, though. 
It stung a little, and I made up my mind to get the bulge on 
you if it took a leg. After you had gone out here to the 
orchard this ifian came to me. I took some corks and burned 
them and blacked my face with them. Then I got this sack 
and bamboo pole and stole up here into the orchard. I 
selected the old brier tree because it was a good distance 
from the nursery, and I should do no damage to it in my 
Avork. My gracious I but didn’t it make me laugh when I 
saw you felloAvs creeping up and playing the scout on me. 
I knew pretty well, though, that you Avouldn’t close in on 
me until I shouldered the apples and started off AAuth them, 
so I was all prepared to drop them at the proper time. 
When you dashed after me I had an eye on you, and about 


A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD. 


119 


the time you got within reach I slid those apples off my 
shoulder just as slick as a greased pig and fastened on to 
you. I expected quite a tussle with you, but I did you up 
so easily, it astonished me almost as much as it did you. I 
thought I should die laughing when I was holding you 
down there ; but I had to keep in. I knew very well 
that you v^^ould recognize my voice just as soon as you 
heard it. Oh, but you two are great fighters, you are!” 
and the big fellow laughed heartily at the thought of his easy 
victory. 

"I don’t know. Dud,” said Kaymond in no little chagrin. 
”I think we made a good fight under the circumstances. We 
were taken by surprise, and besides, everyone says you are 
the strongest man in town.” 

"Well, I guess we had better call it even, hadn’t we?” 

"Even on what?” demanded Byer. 

"That little burglar joke you played on me. I’ll confess I 
was terribly scared by it.” 

"What did we have to do with that affair?” asked Raymond, 
endeavoring to appear innocent. 

"You and Byer had everything to do with it, and I’ll admit 
you did it well,” responded Dud confidently. 

"You won’t say anything about tonight’s business, that’s a 
good fellow, will you?” said Raymond in a coaxing attempt 
to change the subject. 

"I’ll not, on just one condition.” 

"What’s that?” 

"That you and Byer will never say anything about the 
burglar affair.” 

"It’s agreed,” was the prompt response, and the three boys 
shook hands heartily over the compact. 


120 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


As they neared the house they met grandfather Benson 
coming toward them with a lantern in his hand. 

'AVhy, what does this mean?” he inquired in apparent sur- 
prise, as he surveyed the group. ”AVho have you captured, 
boys?” 

"Oh, a colored man we found stealing apples in the 
orchard.” 

"Well, well, I declare. He comes along quietly, doesn’t 
he? My sakes ! Is that you, Dudley? How in the world 
came you out here at this time of night in that plight? Been 
masquerading on the boys, hey?” 

"Yes, just a bit,” grinned Dud. 

"Well, there’s no need of watching any longer. AVe had 
all better go to bed,” and Mr. Benson led the way to the 
house, his round sides shaking now and then with suppressed 
laughter. 

"Dud Rich isn’t at the bottom of this night’s fun, depend 
upon it,” said Raymond, as he and Byer lay in l)ed in the den. 

"Who is?” 

"Grandfather Benson.” 

"But Dud won’t lie, and you know he said it was his plan.” 

"No, he said the plan came to him, and you may be sure 
that grandfather was the one who brought it. Dud would 
never have thought of it in the world.” 

"I guess you must be mistaken. I don’t believe Mr. Ben- 
son would have a hand in such a prank.” 

"Yes, he would, too. He’s just as much a l)oy at heart as 
any of us. I can tell you that he has enjoyed this night’s fun 
a good deal more than Dud is able to.” 

"What makes you think Mr. Benson is at the bottom of this 
business?” 


A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD. 


121 


”A number of things. In the first place, Dud isn’t smart 
enough to think of such a joke, and, in the second place, he 
hasn’t courage enough to carry it out alone, and no amount 
of chaffing on our part could nerve him up to it. I am con- 
vinced l)y the hold way Dud went about his work that grand- 
father planned the whole thing for him, and that he was 
waiting for him all the time in the lower part of the orchard. 
How he must have snickered when he heard us yelling for 
help.” 

" But I can’t believe your grandfather would take part in a 
joke like that,” persisted Byer. 

"Yes, he would, too. Grandfather is as good a man as 
ever lived, but he is a very poor actor. His conduct when 
he met us tonight betrayed him completely. Don’t you sup- 
pose he’d been considerably more flustrated if we’d brought 
in a real thief? Of course he would. He took matters 
altogether too calmly tonight. His attempt to appear sur- 
prised was terribly far fetched ; besides that, did you notice 
how quickly he recognized Dud? Do you suppose he’d been 
so discerning if he hadn’t been in the joke? Not a bit of it.” 

"Well, if he was the one who planned the thing, it only 
evens us up with Dud. I think we’d better keep pretty still 
about the whole matter, don’t you?” 

"Most decidedly I do,” was Kaymond’s hearty rejoinder, 
and in a few minutes both boys were fast asleep. 

It may be well to say right here that the boys were correct 
in surmising that Dud’s bold, and successful practical joke had 
been inspired by grandffither Benson. 

"It’s too bad,” he had thought, as he followed the big fel- 
low to the barn, "that those boys impose upon Dudley so. 
He’s altogether too good natured. If he’d only show a little 


122 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


temper now and then, they wouldn’t pester him nearly so 
much, or, what’s better, if he could only get a good sharp 
joke on them, they’d have four times the respect for him. 
''H’m,” he mused, as an idea came to him. "Why can’t he 
!)lack up and play robber tonight. He is able to handle both 
of the boys with perfect ease, and may be depended on not to 
o^et mad or hurt either of them.” 

The good man kept his own counsel, but no sooner were 
the boys on their way to the orchard than he went to Dud’s 
room, and waking him, informed him of the joke which he 
had planned. The big fellow could scarcely credit his senses. 
He half believed himself to be dreaming, and felt obliged to 
rub his eyes and pinch himself for assurance that such was not 
the case, and that he was really awake. The spectacle of 
grandfather Benson planning a practical joke upon Kaymond 
and Byer was one that the widest stretches of his imagination 
would never have reached to. 

"Are you really in earnest?” he gasped, when he had 
recovered somewhat from his amazement. 

"I was never more so in my life. If you want to put an 
effective stop to the banter of those boys you will have to 
play such a joke on them as will offset the one they played 
on you the other night. I’ve been turning that affair over in 
my mind and I am lirmly convinced that they were the burg- 
lars who disturbed your slumbers, and that the Grover boy 
was a party to the prank. I confess, though, they played it 
pretty well on the whole of us. I really thought at the time 
that you had had a nightmare.” 

"I thought so myself for a while, but I made up my mind 
the next afternoon that it was Kaymond and Byer. I had the 
stable ladder the day before on the upper mow. The next 


A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD. 


123 


time I fed the horses it was on the lower mow. The doors 
were locked and I knew very well that no strangers had been 
there. If there had been, they wouldn’t have known where 
to look for that ladder. Raymond and Byer couldn’t have had 
any use for it that day, and I knew very well that neither of 
them had been in the stable chamber since breakfast. The 
matter puzzled me for a while, but at last I began to see 
through it, and became convinced that the fellows I took to 
be burglars were really those two boys.” 

"You are doubtless right in that conclusion,” said Mr. Ben- 
son. "Now you have a splendid chance to pay them back in 
their own coin and you mustn’t miss it.” 

"But I don’t believe I w^ant to go up there alone tonight,” 
said Dud with an ap})rehensive shiver. 

"Nonsense, Dudley, there’s nobody there but the l)oys. 
You are not afraid of them, are you?” 
but — ” 

"But what?” 

"It’s terrible dark up there.” 

"Darkness never hurt any man ; but if you feel nervous I’ll go 
to the lower edge of the orchard and wait within call for you.” 

"All right. I’ll go,” said Dud eagerly, satisfied with this 
practical relief to his fears. He was nothing loath to have it 
out with the boys in their own line of humor. He entered 
with keen zest into the preparations for his visit to the orchard, 
and when they were completed, grandfather Benson assured 
him that neither of the boys would recognize him. When they 
parted at the foot of the orchard Mr. Benson urged Dud to 
make the joke a complete success by playing his part boldly. 
How well he carried out his instructions our readers already 
know. 


124 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


Raymond and Byer looked a little sheepish the following 
day at dinner, which was the first meal they were up in time 
for ; but neither grandfather Benson nor Dud made any refer- 
ence to the affair of the preceding night. The boys accepted 
the truce thus delicately offered, and from that time forth the 
apple thief and Dud’s burglars were persons never referred to. 

About a week later the stage from the Corner stopped at 
the house to leave some packages, and Raymond, who went 
out to take them, was surprised to find among the passengers 
Mr. David Beecham. He was somewhat undecided at first 
just how to meet him. This question was quickly solved by 
the teacher. He held out his hand very cordially to Ray- 
mond with a hearty "Good morning.” 

"Good morning, Mr. Beecham. Aren’t you a good ways 
from school ?” 

"Yes, quite a ways, but this is my vacation time. The 
term is closed.” 

"Why, I thought it kept two weeks longer,” said Raymond 
in surprise. 

"Well, that was the original intention, but the money 
didn’t hold out. Some of those who subscribed failed to pay, 
and it was found necessary to cut the term short.” 

"Will you teach at the Corner again?” 

"Probably not. I graduate from college next June, and 
shall begin the study of law. I have probably closed my 
career as a teacher.” 

"Mr. Beecham,” said Raymond earnestly, "I want to ask 
your pardon for my outrageous conduct this term. There 
was no excuse for it. I have none to offer. I only wonder 
at your forbearance.” 

"That is all right, Raymond,” responded Mr. Beecham, 


A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD. 


125 


much affected. "I never laid up your mischief against you, 
for I always felt that your heart was in the right place. If I 
can ever be of service to you in the future, I trust you will 
believe me your friend and will not hesitate to call upon me.” 

certainly shall. I could have no stronger proof of it 
than you have just given.” 

The two shook hands warmly, and Eaymond watched the 
stage disappear over the hill with a feeling of relief from 
the burdens of conscience that he had not experienced since 
he left the High School. 


126 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER IX. 

NOAH griffin's REFORMATION. 

Raymond and Byer found the work of gathering apples 
much more congenial than that of hauling rocks, and were 
only too glad to devote their energies to it while grandfather 
Benson and Dud were engaged in breaking up the front field. 

The apples were picked up in bushel baskets and carried on 
a wheelbarrow to the large, dry cellar under the ell, where 
they were carefully sorted and stored away in different bins. 
Grandfather Benson took great pride in his orchard, which 
was one of the finest in the county. All its fruit was of the 
best grafted varieties, and he had never failed to secure 
the lion’s share of the premiums in the pomological exhibit 
at the annual county fair. He was very careful to avoid 
bruising the fruit in gathering it, and the result was that he 
always found a ready market for all he had to sell, and could 
easily have disposed of many times as much as he raised. 
The orchard was the greatest single source of profit on the 
farm, and Raymond and Byer took plenty of time to secure 
its fruit in first class condition. They had Raymond’s double 
barrelled shot gun with them where they worked, and were 
able to carry on a considerable work of destruction among the 
chipmunks and red squirrels that infested the orchard. 

Not far from the Benson farm lived a man named Noah 


NOAH griffin’s REFORMATION. 


127 


Griffin, who bore the reputation among Chestnut people of 
being one of the most shiftless men in the county. His farm, 
notwithstanding the many granite boulders that dotted its 
surface, was one of the most productive in town, and had it 
been properly cultivated might have brought its owner excellent 
returns. Noah Griffin, however, had a strange faculty of 
always doing things at the wrong time and never doing any- 
thing thoroughly. His breaking up was usually done so late 
in the fall that it was shut off by the early frosts before it was 
completed, thus going over to retard the labors of the follow- 
ing spring. He was generally the last man in Chestnut to 
get his crops into the ground, and the last to harvest them. 

He spent time and money enough in repairing worn out 
farm vehicles and implements to have purchased several full 
sets of new ones. More labor had been expended by him in 
patching up the leaky roofs of his farm buildings than would 
have been required to shingle them newly twice over. He 
never thought of doing any work upon his fences until his 
cattle were running loose in the road, and then his favorite 
method of closing the breach was to fill it with brush. As a 
result of this shiftless way of doing things the Griffin place 
had long presented a neglected and dilapidated appearance. 
Noah’s farming implements were strewn in promiscuous con- 
fusion about the premises. The door-yard was his favorite 
place of storage. It was never without a variagated collection 
of ox yokes, carts, drags, rakes, axes, ploughs, harrows — in 
fact, there was scarcely anything about the place that did not 
figure there at some time during the year. 

Noah’s house was of a pattern very familiar in the early 
days of the county, and even now to be found there in cer- 
tain localities. It had originally been built by one of the 


128 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


settlers upon — as Kaymond Benson expressed it, — ”the plan 
of a shoe box,” with a roof of low slant. When the needs of 
a growing family demanded more room, an addition was 
built upon one side of it with a shed roof in continuation of 
the house, reaching down to within ten feet of the ground. 
The two chimneys which the structure boasted were in the old 
part of the house, above whose moss-grown shingles they 
lifted but a few feet of blackened bricks and mortar. As may 
be imagined, few changes had been made in the place after it 
came into the possession of Noah Griffin. To him its most 
attractive spot was the large open fire-place in the front sitting 
room. He loved dearly to sit in his stocking feet before its 
cheerful blaze, toasting his pedal extremities and drawing 
immeasurable inspiration from a short black pipe, which was 
the inseparable companion of the clock upon the mantel- 
piece. 

It was, doubtless, the fact that the cares of life rested 
lightly upon Noah’s broad shoulders that gave him an abund- 
ance of time to proclaim the evils of the age. Be that as it 
may, his favorite pastime was to sit upon one of the nail kegs 
in Squire Copeland’s store, chew immense quantities of tobacco 
and bemoan the hard life that farmers were forced to live. 
To prosperity in any form he was irrevokably opposed. He 
appeared to regard those who had exchanged honest industry 
for a well-to do condition in life as the enemies of mankind. 
They were always, to his mind, "bloated ’ristocrats,” and he 
was very fond of assuring those who would listen to him that 
the time would come when down-trodden laboring men like 
himself would rebel against the tyranny of capital, the unjust 
distribution of wealth that was forever grinding them upon 
the ragged edge of life. Then, he predicted, would come 


NOAH griffin’s REFORMATION. 


129 


such a revulsion of feeling, such a mighty shaking up of 
affairs, such an outpouring of the righteous indignation of the 
oppressed masses — whom he conceived to be a great army of 
Noah Griffins, — as would break down the artificial barriers 
of wealth and give to every man, woman and child an equal 
share in the good things of life. This was the golden era to 
which Noah looked forward with hopeful anticipation. In 
the meantime he managed to bear up under the grievous bur- 
dens of a social system founded upon industry, through the 
solace he sucked from his venerable pipe, and the inspiration 
he derived from occasional visits to the home of Pete Atkins. 

On one occasion Noah had ventured to give expression to a 
few of his theories in open town meeting, when the question 
of offering exemption from taxation to a proposed woolen mill 
was under discussion. He had warmed to his subject as he 
dilated upon the inequalities with which "we laborin’ men” 
were forced to contend. Why, he demanded, should those 
of them who toiled early and late to scrape together a mean, 
ignoble livelihood, a subsistence unworthy of American citizen- 
ship, be forced to contribute from their scanty earnings to the 
prosperity of a grasping and bloated corporation? Why, 
indeed ! As Noah proceeded with his remarks, his voice 
assumed a stentorian pitch. With fiery invective he denounced 
the tyrannical operations of the " money barons” who, not sat- 
isfied with securing pretty much all the property in the world, 
were savagely determined to rake into their already bursting 
coffers the very victuals from the poor man’s table. 

At this interesting point in his remarks the frowzy head of 
a small boy appeared at a window in the rear of the hall, and a 
shrill voice shouted, "Mr. Griffin, your cattle’s in the 
pound.” 


130 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


A burst of uproarious laughter followed this announcement, 
during which Noah lost the thread of his discourse and sat 
down very much flustered and exceedingly red in the face. 

Notwithstanding this humiliating collapse, of his oratorical 
eflfort, there was balm-of-gilead for Noah in the fact that the 
proposition to exempt was defeated by a small vote, although 
it was strongly supported by Andrew Benson, whose opinions 
usually prevailed in town affairs. 

The new woolen mill was therefore established in the adjoin- 
ing town of Bodge, which voted the exemption. A thriving 
community grew up about it, and many Chestnut citizens 
moved there to obtain employment, carrying with them a 
large amount of property. The following year the tax rate 
was reduced in Bodge and advanced in Chestnut. Notwith- 
standing these facts, Noah always maintained that he had saved 
his town from a heavy loss of taxes, and by his timely grasp 
of the situation had forever snatched it from the clutches of 
corporate power. 

Noah’s better half, Matilda Griffin, was a tall raw-boned 
woman who had been accustomed for many years to perform 
a large amount of the work that, in the usual division of labor, 
would have fallen upon her liege lord. She was an energetic 
soul, and it was chiefly to her untiring industry that she and 
Noah were always comfortably dressed and had enough to eat. 
Matilda — or Tilly, as she was familiarly called by her ac- 
quaintances, — was not a woman of prepossessing appearance. 
She was loose-jointed and angular. Her features were thin 
and sharp, and she had an exceedingly shrill and penetrating 
voice. She wore her hair in a tight pug on the back of her 
neck, and was generally clad in a loose print wrapper, from 
under which protruded a substantial pair of leather slippers. 


NOAH griffin’s REFORMATION. 


131 


These, as they had originally been purchased for Noah, were 
several sizes too large for her. As she went about her house- 
hold tasks the heels of these commodious articles beat a tattoo 
upon the floor in accompaniment to her thoughts, and in keep- 
ing with the vigor of her movements. 

Older citizens of Chestnut remembered her years before as 
a bright, ambitious girl, of a lively and sunny disposition. 
Thirty years of married life with Noah Griffin had transformed 
her into a soured and disappointed woman, prematurely old. 
Life had, indeed, few pleasures for her. As she grew older 
she became a firm believer in spiritualism and appeared to ex- 
tract some comfort from this faith. Although Noah was natu- 
rally a superstitious man, with a profound trust in many signs 
and omens, he had heaped no end of ridicule upon his wife for 
what he termed her "nonsensical notions” ; but he was unable 
to shake her faith. She declared, with no little vehemence, 
that what she knew she knew^ and nothing anyone could say 
would make the slightest difierence with her. As she was not 
a specially agreeable companion when in a contentious mood, 
Noah had gradually come to make less comment upon her faith 
in spiritualism. He was also impelled to this course by a 
haunting fear that, after all, she might be right. In view of 
such a possibility he concluded that silence might prove in 
the long run to be golden, and cautiously held his peace. 

It was no little aggravation to Raymond and Byer, upon 
returning to the orchard from dinner one day, to find Noah’s 
cattle within the enclosure, engaged in a very active work of 
destruction. A basket of choice nodheads, from a small tree 
in which grandfather Benson felt a special pride, was over- 
turned, and such of the fruit as had not been eaten was so 
badly bitten and trampled upon as to be worthless. 


132 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"I declare!” exclaimed Raymond angrily. ” There can 
never be any bars down or gates left open in this town but 
Noah Griffin’s cattle are sure to sneak through and get into 
mischief. Here they’ve spoiled the very best nodheads in the 
orchard. Grandfather was going to select the ones for the 
county fair from that very basket. Any man who can’t keep 
his cattle out of the highways ought not to l)e allowed to have 
any.” 

”I’ll fix them,” responded Byer as he picked up the shot 
gun. 

"What are you going to do?” asked Raymond hastily. 

"I’m oroiiia to ffive these cattle a dose of something warming.’^ 

C? C* o o o 

"No, you’re not.” 

"Why not?” 

"Because it would be a mean and cowardly act. You’ll say 
so, too, Byer, if you’ll think a minute. These cattle are not 
to blame for running the roads ; it’s the fault of their owner, 
who is too lazy to keep his fences in decent repair. Any 
cattle would run the road as much as these do, if they had as 
good a chance.” 

"I guess you’re right, Raymond,” responded Byer, whose 
anger was rapidly cooling. "Noah’s the one who ought to be 
shot ; it would be mean to hurt his cattle. I declare, though, 
I haven’t any patience with that man. He’s the most shift- 
less, good for nothing fellow I know of. Why, he’s actually 
spent time enough making pokes and blinds for cattle not in 
the least breachy to have built a fence as good as your grand- 
father’s three times round his farm. I vow he deserves to be 
ridden out of town on a rail.” 

"He is a worthless fellow, Byer, that’s a fact, and perhaps 
we can find a way to convince him of it.” 


NOAH griffin’s REFORMATION. 


133 


"No, you couldn’t do that. He has altogether too good an 
opinion of himself; he knows too much to work,” said Byer 
disgustedly. 

"There's truth in what you say,” replied Raymond, as he 
drove the last offending cow into the road and closed the gate 
hehind her. " I have an idea in mind, though, that may be of 
service in letting Noah hear the voice of public opinion. 

"What’s that?” 

’’Let’s finish gathering these apples and I’ll show you. I 
think we can get through by three o’clock, and that will give 
us till supper time to develop my plan.” 

The boys set to w^ork with a wdll and by the middle of the 
afternoon had the last basketful of apples safely stowed away 
in the cellar. When this had been done Raymond led the 
w’ay to the workshop in the shed connecting the ell of the house 
with the stable. 

"Now w^hat?” queried Byer, whose curiosity was consider- 
ably excited to learn the method by which Raymond proposed 
to give Noah Griffin a knowdedge of what his neighbors 
thought of him. 

"Well, the first thing, Byer, will be for you to take this 
axe and go to the sw^amp. Cut down a sapling maple with a 
trunk as nearly round as you can find, and from three to three 
and one half inches in diameter. Bring me a piece of it from 
next the stump, about two feet long.” 

"I don’t see what you can want of that,” said Byer, as he 
swuno^ the axe over his shoulder. 

"Til show you when you get back.” 

" Well, I can’t imagine wdiat it can be,” was Byer’s mystified 
response, as he started tow^ard the swamp. 

When he had gone, Raymond pulled from under the work 


134 


THE SMlJGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


l)ench a large box which had long been used as a receptacle 
for a miscellaneous collection of odds and ends. After rum- 
aging about among its contents for awhile, he pulled from it 
a long piece of rubber hose which had formerly done duty on 
a force pump. This he viewed with no little satisfaction. 

'"I thought I couldn’t be mistaken about seeing this here,’' 
he soliloquized. "It will be exactly what we want. There 
must be nearly twenty feet of it and this hole near the end 
seems to be the only one in it. I guess I’ll cut this lower 
part otf ; it must be air tight for my purposes — there, I think 
that will fill the bill.” 

In a short time Byer returned from the swamp with a hand- 
some straight maple stick about three inches and a half in 
diameter. 

"Will that do?” he asked, as he laid it on the bench. 

"Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted. Now, Byer, I wish 
you’d put that in the vise and saw the end oft' squarely ; then 
bore a hole in it about three inches deep with the two inch 
auger. You must be sure and get the hole in the center. 
Place the point of your auger in the pith of the stick.” 

"I begin to see why you wanted a green stick,” said Byer, 
as he followed Raymond’s directions. "You were afraid of 
splitting a dry one.” 

"That’s it, exactly. I’ve tried it a number of times, and 
you are almost sure of splitting a dry stick of this size when you 
bore so large a hole in the end of it. There is seldom any 
trouble, though, with a green stick.” 

" Where did you ever see any w^ork like this done ? ” 

"At Amos Dole’s lumber camp last winter. The men used 
to bore out green sticks and make them into the shape of bar- 
rels ; then they would fill them up with spruce gum and i)ut 


NOAH GKIFFIN’S REFORMATION. 


135 


in heads of thoroughly seasoned wood. When the green 
wood dried it shrunk and held these heads very tirnily in 
l)lace. Some of the men had a number of these neat little 
barrels of gum stored away. They expected to find a very 
ready market for them at Bangor when they came off the 
drive in the spring.” 

"But you are not going to make barrels, are you?” 

"No, I didn’t say I was. I only told you where I had seen 
work of this kind done before.” 

"What next?” asked Byer, with a puzzled air, as he pulled 
the auger from the hole he had bored. 

"Well, now you may take the three quarters inch auger, 
center it upon the bottom of the hole you have just finished, 
and bore another five inches deep.” 

"Why, that will be a wooden tunnel.” 

"Precisely. That’s just what we are going to make — two 
wooden tunnels.” 

"1 don’t see what use you can have for them.” 

" ril show you pretty soon. The first tunnel you may leave 
on the inside just as it was bored ; the second one you may 
rim out about the mouth, on the plan of a tin tunnel.” 

"Then what?” 

" Then we’ll place the two tunnels in the ends of this hose 
and have a splendid speaking tube. We can talk into the 
first tunnel and the second one will throw the voice out in good 
shape.” 

"But what will you do with it, after it’s all done?” 

"You and I will go down to Noah Griffin’s with it tonight. 
We’ll take a short mow ladder with us from the barn, and 
have on an extra pair of stockings. About the time Noah and 
Tilly are beginning to doze before the open fire, we’ll steal up 


136 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


on the roof of the house in our stocking feet, drop this speak- 
ing tube into the chimney and give them a spiritualistic seance 
more weird than anything in that line they have ever 
dreamed of.” 

" But don’t you suppose they’ll see through it ? ” laughed 
Byer. 

"Not at all. They are altogether too superstitious for 
that.” 

"Well, perhaps so ; but if they are fooled by this contriv- 
ance, they are greener than I think they are.” 

"If everything works right, we’ll have a little sport at 
Noah’s expense, and teach him a useful lesson, beside,” said 
Kaymond confidently. 

By supper time the boys had their speaking tube completed, 
and, with a little practice, Raymond developed a voice on it 
so hollow, lugubrious and long drawn out, that Byer declared 
might well belong to another world, for it was certainly 
dolefully different from anything in this. 

It was about eight o'clock when the boys finally brought 
up at Noah’s house. They had not dared to defer their visit 
to a later hour, for Chestnut people retired early, and the 
Griffins did not differ from their neighbors in this respect. 
They generally sat before the open fire for a couple of hours 
after the evening chores were done, and then went to bed. 

These short evenings were usually passed in reading, or in 
discussing the affairs of their neighl)ors, in which both Noah 
and Tilly had a lively interest. Each took a newspaper, one 
a socialist publication after Noah’s o\jm heart, the other a 
spiritualist sheet, Avhich Tilly found quite indispensable. Thus 
both the religious and secular Avorld were provided for. Out- 
side of these papers, however, the Griffins Avere not very 


XOAH GUIFFIN’s REFORMATION. 


137 


extensively supplied with literature. A Testament, a well 
worn AVebster’s Dictionary, Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, 
Tovme’s Fourth Reader, and the Maine Farmer’s Almanac, 
constituted their lilirary. Although the volumes were few, it 
must be admitted that they were carefully selected, and their 
begrimmed and thumb-marked pages showed that they had 
been many times ” chewed and digested,” in accordance with 
the famous advice of Lord Bacon — although it is extremely 
doubtful if either Noah or Tilly had ever heard of such a 
personage. 

On the evening when Raymond and Byer made their visit 
to the Griffin homestead, Noah and Tilly had finished their 
chores somewhat earlier than usual. As was customary, the 
lion’s share of the work had fallen upon the good woman. 
Noah felt that he had done all that could reasonably be expected 
of him, by getting in the wood and preparing the morrow’s 
kindlings, while his wife did the milking. 

He was in a rather more meditative mood than usual, as he 
toasted his feet before the open fire and blew large puffs of 
smoke up the chimney from his short black pipe. 

”Pve bin erthinkin’, Tilly,” he announced, with impressive 
slowness, "that it Avould be er mighty good idee to put er 
mortgage on this ’ere place ’n git some stock in the Louisiana 
Development ’n Investment Company. The stock is sellin’ 
at er little over er dollar, now, ’n when it comes to par ’twill 
be wuth ten. S’pose we got er thousand shares. In er few 
years we could jest sell out ’n be rich. I was er talkin’ with 
Simon Dart this mornin’ ’n he ses that ’ere stock is dead sartin 
to go for er premium inside o’ ten years. Jest you think o’ 
that, Tilly. We could leave this ole house, buy er nice little 
place at the Corner, ’n settle down ’n be somebody.” 


138 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


”Who is sellin’this stock?” demanded Tilly, coldly, and it 
was very evident that she did not share in her husband’s 
enthusiasm. 

"Simon Dart.” 

" What’s he git for his work ? ” 

"I don’t know, I ’spose they gin him the inside track on 
some o’ the stock.” 

"Well, you may jest depend ’pon it, Noah Griffin he hasn’t a 
cent o’ that stock in his name. He knows too much. He’s a 
smooth talkin’, oily rascallion, jest suited to make money out 
o’ the fools round him. He’s a sly one, he is. It’s er very 
easy thing for him to fleece people like you with er little bogus 
paper with er high soundin’ name hitched on to it. How d’ye 
know there’s any sech company ? Don’t you think for one 
minit I’d trust that smirkin’ hypocrit of er Sime Dart. Thank 
goodness, my senses haven’t deserted me, howsomever it may 
be with you.” 

"Now look er here, Tilly, I know what I’m talkin’ erbout* 
I aint so big a fool as you think I be. When men like Rufus 
Blake go in to anything, the rest on us may consider with 
tolerable sartinty that there’s a dollar in it somewhere. He’s 
never bin known to lose er cent.” 

"Well, there’s got to be er first time. You may be sartin, 
too, that he doesn’t risk his home in any sech speculation. 
He’s got some surplus money to put into sech things. You 
might have had some, too, if you’d worked half as hard as he 
has. There was a time when you was wuth more than he 
was.” 

"But you know very well, Tilly,” said Noah, dolefully, 
' that I’ve never bin er rale well man ; that makes er power- 
ful sight ’o diflerence in this life.” 


NOAH griffin’s REFORMATION. 


139 


”Yes, you’re a very puny man, you are,” said Tilly, with a 
sneering laugh. "You’ve never seen er rale sick day since 
we’ve hill married. The only thing you’ve bin sick on is 
work, ’ll I think that disease was horn in you.” 

"It’s no use er harpin’ on that ole strain, Tilly. You don’t 
understand me, ’n I’m all through hopin’ that you ever will ; 
hut all that’s nothin’ to do with the question. What do you 
think o’ my scheme?” 

"I think it’s er humbug, that’s what I think on’t. lean 
jest tell you, Noah Griffin, that what folks has in this world 
they have to work for, unless they’re able, like Siiiie Dart, to 
jew it out o’ folks that has worked for it. Where d’ye ’spose 
the money’s cornin’ from to make that stock wuth so much?” 

"Out o’ the profits.” 

"Out o’ the fiddlesticks ! You haven’t got so much sense 
as I thought you had. You can jest make up your mind that 
what one man gains in them deals, some other feller loses. 
The fellers that gits the profits are the ones that work the 
swindle.” 

"Well, Tilly, we can be er long side o’ the winners. Ive 
got — ” here Noah cast a cautious glance about the room and 
lowered his voice to a confidential whisper — "er chance to 
git in on the inside.” 

"Nonsense, you ninny. You’d be sartin sure to lose all 
you had if there was any chance for it. Thank goodness, 
this ’ere place can’t go out o’ our hands without my consent. 
If it could, the both on us would ha’ bin in the poor house 
years ago.” 

Noah was about to make some response to this emphatic 
declaration when both he and Tilly were startled and terrified 
by a most unexpected occurrence. 


140 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


''Xo-a-a-a-h,” came a weird, unearthly voice from the 
chimney. 

^'Di-did you hear that, Tilly?” he gasped. 

"Don’t you ’spose I’ve got ears?” responded the good 
woman, who had dropped her knitting work into her lap and 
was holding up both hands in amazement. "That was a 
sperit, Xoah. I’ve heard ’em rap ’n’ whisper er good many 
times, but I’ll allow I’ve never heard ’em holler right out like 
that before.” 

"Hadn’t we better go, Tilly?” asked Xoah nervously. 

"Go where?” 

"Down to Grover’s or Benson’s. You know we haint run 
in on either on ’em for a long time.” 

"Xow jest look er here, Xoah Griffin. Listen to my advice 
’n’ don’t be fool enough to think you can run away from a 
sperit. If that sperit’s got anything to say to you. I’m tellin’ 
you he’s goin’ to say it, ’n’ I jest advise you to treat him 
civilly.” 

"Perhaps ’twas the wind,” suggested Xoah with evident 
agitation ; but this idea W'as speedily showui to be a delusion. 

"Xo-a-a-ah Gri-i-iffin,” moaned the same wxird voice in the 
chimney. 

"Answ^er him, you numskull,” said Tilly, as her spouse 
rose to his feet and with blanched face moved his chair away 
from the fire-place. 

"Wh-wdi-wdio is it?” demanded Xoah faintly. 

"I am the spirit of universal condemnation.” 

"There. I knew ’twas a sperit,” said Tilly triumphantly. 
" Xow I guess you’ll begin to l)’lieve I know" what I’m talkin’ 
erbout. Ask him what he w^ants. Be sociable, you simple- 
ton.” 


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“T PROMISE YE I’ll turn over er new leaf ” (Page 141) 


NOAH griffin's REFORMATION. 


141 


''Wha-what d’ye \vant?” gasped Xoah, and it was evident 
that he was e()ni})letely terrified. His face was ghastly wliite 
and his teeth chattered. 

'’To pronounce the verdict of pulilic opinion upon your 
worthless life,” came the response in tones that brought the 
cold sweat to Xoah’s forehead, and made the chills run down 
his back-bone. "You have been a miserable, lazy, shiftless, 
worthless, complaining creature, Noah Griffin,” continued the 
voice in accents of deep and doleful reproach. 

"I-T know it,” Avas Noah’s humble admission. 

"You have let your good Avife do Avork that no Avoman 
should do ; you haA^e been envious of your more industrious 
neighbors ; you haA^e neA^er ke})t your fences in rei)air, and 
your cattle have run the roads to l)e the pests of all the neigh- 
bors. AVhat hast thou to say to these charges, O miserable 
man ? ” 

" Noth-nothih’,” was Noah’s faint response. 

"All of your neighbors are disgusted Avith you.” 

" I dare say.” 

"You deserve to be dragged doAvn from this Avorld for- 
ever-r.” 

"O Lord,” groaned the iioav thoroughly conscience-stricken 
man. "Say somethin’ to him, Tilly.” 

"This is none o’ my business,” said the good Avoman grimly. 
"That ’ere sperit is after you. Them same things has bin 
Avhis})ered to me er good many times.” 

'"Xo-a-a-ah, Ave have come for you,” continued the Aveird 
voice from the chimney. 

"Have mercy. HaA^e mercy. I’ll do difierent. I promise 
ye I’ll turn over er new leaf.” 


142 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Will you build a good bunk fence of whole cedar logs 
clear round your farm?” 

"Ye-e-e-s.” 

" And be an industrious citizen, contented with your lot in 
life.” 

"ril-ril try.” 

"Very well, Xoah. We’ll leave you this time; but woe, 
woe to you if we return again. We shall expect you to begin 
a new life at once ; and start that new fence this very week.” 

"I will. I will.” 

"Very well, sir. We shall watch you, sir — watch you 
night and day. Farewell, sir, till we meet again.” 

The hollow, ghastly tones of the voice in the chimney became 
silent, but Noah sat pale and motionless in his chair, and it 
was evident that the ordeal he had been through had left him 
in a most frightened and exhausted condition. From that 
day, however, a marked change came over his life. The 
people of Chestnut were astounded to see a new fence grow 
up about the Griffin })lace that fairly vied for first honors with 
the famous one of Andrew Benson. Noah’s buildings were 
newly shingled and put in repair; his door-yard was cleaned 
up ; his fall ploughing was done long before the frosts came ; 
and he and Tilly began to make their appearance Sundays at 
the Corner meeting-house. The startling rumor grew current 
in the town that Tilly no longer did the milking. People 
were afforded the novel spectacle of Noah Griffin working 
early and late. They began to speak of him as a likely man, 
and to wonder what had wrought such a marvellous trans- 
formation in him. But those who were able to clear up the 
mystery held their peace, and Chestnut people were forced to 
record it among the modern miracles. 


THE BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON’S BARN. 143 


CHAPTER X. 

THE BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON’S BARN. 

As may ])e imagined, the effect which the practical test of 
their speaking tube had upon Xoah and Tilly Griffin was a 
source of no little sport to Raymond and Byer. If the 
alarmed and astounded couple could have seen them snicker, 
punch each other in the ribs, and struggle to choke back their 
laughter, as they stood over the little old chimney on the 
roof top, it is to be seriously doubted if the prank would have 
been attended with such good results. 

"Did you ever see the beat of that?” said Byer in a con- 
vulsed whisper. "I had no idea they would bite so easily.” 

"They are just the fish to be caught with that kind of l)ait,” 
returned Raymond. "If they hadn't l^een, I shouldn’t have 
tried it on them. Of course it’s simple enough to us who are 
operating the joke, but we must rememl)er it’s all real to 
them.” 

"I believe Tilly is the braver of the two,” whispered Byer a 
moment later. 

"Well, that’s to be expected. You know she’s always 
been the real man of the house, and besides that, she’s lived 
among us spirits for a long time and feels more at home with 
us than Xoah does.” 

Byer chuckled merrily at this conceit. "You beat all the 


144 


THE SMUGGLEliS OF CHESTNUT. 


fellows IVe ever known,” he said with an approving slap on 
Eaymond’s shoulder. "What’s that Noah just said?” 

"He’s promised to do the milking for Tilly if we’ll let him 
remain on this mundane sphere a while longer.” 

"The milking ! Why, you must have driven the man 
crazy. He’d certainly never make such a promise as that in 
his sober senses.” 

"That must be it, I guess,” said Kaymond, struggling hard 
to choke back a laugh. ’'What do you suppose he has just 
promised to do ? ” 

"I can’t imagine.” 

"To build a fence of whole cedar rails clear round his 
farm.” 

"That settles it. The fellow is certainly insane. We’ve 
frightened him out of his wits. What’s that he just said?” 

"That he’d try and be content with his lot in life.” 

"Proof enough,” said Byer decisively. "The man has cer- 
tainly gone stark, staring mad— it may be, though, that 
you’ve hypnotized him by the soothing effect of that voice of 
yours.” 

"That may be it, perhaps. Be careful, Byer, and don’t 
make so much noise on those shingles. If they should sus- 
pect anything, it would spoil the effect of the best lesson 
Noah ever had in his life. I’ve found him a very docile 
pupil ; nothing contentious about him tonight, I can tell you.” 

At this moment the full moon broke from behind a bank of 
ffeecy clouds and lit up the night with its mellow beams. 

"It won’t do for us to stay here any longer,” whispered 
Byer. "You must ring down the curtain on Noah. Anyone 
driving along the main road could see us just as plain as day.” 

"I’m all through,” responded Raymond. 


THE BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON’S BARN. 145 


"How did you leave him?” 

"On probation.” 

"Do you think he’ll do what he promised to?” 

"I haven’t the slightest doubt of it.” 

"There’s one thing I think was a little too rough on Noah.” 

What’s that ?” 

"To make him promise to be contented with his lot. Why, 
Noah Griffin wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t have somebody 
or something to growl about. It’s my opinion you’ve killed 
him, cruel, cruel spirit,” he added with mock solemnity. 

"Perhaps so ; but I wasn’t so severe on him as you imagine. 
I only made him promise to try to be contented. He didn’t 
contract to do more. I was liberal with him, you see, for I 
knew that however willing Noah might be in the spirit — and 
you must bear clearly in mind that this night’s proceedings 
have been wholly in the spirit, — he might fall from the lofty 
purposes then formed when he found himself once more in 
the flesh.” 

"Yes, you were very considerate,” laughed Byer. 

As the boys were descending the long hill that sloped down 
to the bank of the brook opposite the Benson homestead, 
they met a team coming slowly up the ascent. It was a long, 
loose-running, open buggy, of somewhat ancient design, 
drawn by a heavy farm horse. The driver was closely muffled 
up in a heavy buffalo coat. His broad-rimmed felt hat was 
drawn well over his eyes, and he leaped forward upon his 
seat as if deeply engrossed in his reflections. As the boys 
came opposite him he suddenly straightened up and gave them 
a sharp, piercing look. Raymond was surprised to recog- 
nize in the bright moonlight the face of old Pete Atkins. 
The look of malignant hatred which it wore showed that its 


146 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


owner still cherished very bitter memories of the affair on Bent 
Hill, in which his favorite dog had come to an untimely end. 

Raymond was not by any means a timid boy, as the reader, 
doubtless, has already discovered. He was resolute and ener- 
getic, and unusually cool for his years. Nevertheless, there 
was something in the look which the Chestnut rumseller gave 
him from under his shaggy eyebrows, that made him feel 
decidedly uncomfortable. 

"That fellow will never be satisfied until he has appeased 
his anger at me by doing me some injury,” bemused. 

The savage hatred of old Pete’s glance had not escaped the 
attention of Byer, either, although, as Raymond had kept his 
own counsel concerning the affair on Bent Hill, he did not 
assign any personal motive for it, or attach any significance 
to it so far as himself and his companion were concerned. 

"That old fellow’s hatching up some mischief, I’ll be bound, 
he said, "or else he’s meditating on some of the deviltry he’s 
committed in the past. I suppose it would take a good many 
large volumes to tell. all he’s done in that line. Whew! but 
did you notice the scowl he had on? His eyes, too, glistened 
just like a snake’s — but that’s not surprising; he belongs to 
that family.” 

"He was evidently thinking pretty hard about something,” 
answered Raymond, who was turning over some anxious 
thoughts in his own mind. 

" I shouldn’t say the old fellow found much pleasure in his 
reflections,” continued Byer, with a shake of his head. "He 
looked like a man with the colic. Did you ever see such a 
fiendish expression on a human face?” 

"Yes.” 

"Where?” 


THE BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON’S BARN. 147 


Right here, on this hill,” said Raymond, with a short and 
somewhat nervous laugh, rousing himself from the despond- 
ency which his meeting with Pete had produced, and making 
a forced effort to appear gay. 

"Oh, I know that,” responded Byer impatiently, "I meant 
anywhere else ; besides, I hope you don’t think I’d call that a 
human face. Pete Atkins always made me lielieve there was 
some truth in that idea of man descending from monkeys.” 

"And a great descent it was, too — for some of them,” said 
Raymond. 

"Let me see ; what is it you call that? The some kind of 
a notion.” 

"The Darwinian theory?” 

"Yes, that’s what I was driving at. I think he’s one of 
those links they’ve had so much trouble to find.” 

"You’re prejudiced, Byer,” said Raymond lightly. 

"Perhaps I am. I’ll allow I have my likes and dislikes, so 
far as people are concerned. I always form a sort of opinion 
of every stranger I meet. Some I kind of warm towards, 
while others make me feel as chilly as an ice cake. I can’t 
explain why it is, and I know it’s foolish ; but it’s so, all the 
same. I suppose we ought not to sit in judgment upon any- 
one’s character until we have some reasonable grounds to do 
it on.” 

"I agree with you there, Byer,” said Raymond. "First 
impressions are very apt to be incorrect. AYe shouldn’t let 
the prejudices they stimulate get the upper hands of our cooler 
judgment. There are a good many excellent people in the 
world whose manner is against them, and who, if judged 
entirely by the impression they create with strangers, would 
never be appreciated for their true worth. You take a bash- 


148 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


ful, retiring, timid person, lacking in self-confidence, and he 
is very apt to make a decidedly poor showing with those who 
are unacquainted with him. He will stammer and blush and 
get confused. His w^ords will all seem to come back- 
foremost, though perhaps among his friends he may be 
brilliant and fluent. I tell you, Byer, you can’t tell from out- 
side appearance how much there is in a man, any more than 
you can tell how far a cat can jump from the length of her tail.” 

"That’s so. I remember when I visited my cousin at 
Bowdoin College last winter, that there was a large fellow at 
the club, whom I immediately picked out for one of the Daniel 
Websters of the institution. He was a handsome fellow, easy 
and graceful in his manners, and bright as a dollar in his 
conversation. I was considerably taken with him and immed- 
iately set him down for one of the heavy weights. When we 
got back to the room, I asked my cousin about him, and was 
perfectly dumbfounded when he told me that the fellow was 
the cheekiest, the shallowest and the cheapest in the whole 
crowd. He added that he was a perfect dunce in his studies. 
I was completely taken aback, and asked him who the smartest 
fellow at that table really was. 

'Did you see the quiet little fellow at the foot of the table ?’ 

'That little freckle-faced chap,’ says I. 

'The very one,’ says he. 'Well, he’s the ablest man in our 
society, and one of the brightest fellows in the whole college. 
There’s meat in his cocoanut.’” 

"Well, I guess it surprised you a little, didn’t it?” asked 
Kaymond with evident interest. 

"You may just believe it did ; but it taught me one whole- 
some lesson, and that was not to judge too much by outward 
appearances.” 


THE BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON’S BARN. 149 


”It’s a good one to learn, Byer, but a hard one to put in 
practice. There are some people that we feel an instinctive 
aversion to, the first time we meet them. Without knowing 
why, we feel that we dislike them. There may,' or may not, 
be reason for this feeling, but unless it is changed by subse- 
quent acquaintance, it will stand as our permanent judgment 
in either case.” 

” That’s very true,” assented Byer. '"Do you know, I took 
a terrible dislike to Ked Grover the first time I ever saAV him, 
and noAv he’s one of the best friends I have.” 

"That’s strange.” 

"Isn’t it? It makes me laugh now, to think of it. Father 
and I were changing works Avith Mr. Grover the fall after we 
bought our farm and moA^ed here to Chestnut. Ned didn’t 
have very much to say to me. lie was a good deal more 
reserved then than he is noAV — in fact, you couldn’t imagine 
a ofreater chanofe in a fellow than has come over him since he 
began to go out round and get acquainted Avith people. Do 
you know, I thought he Avas stuck up and felt himself better 
than me.” 

"What an idea,” laughed Kaymond. "Why, there never 
was a fellow in the Avorld that had any less snobbishness about 
him.” 

"I know it. I found that out when I greAv better acquainted 
with him. That’s what makes my first impression of him 
seem so amusing.” 

By this time the boys had reached the farmhouse. It stood 
dark and silent, its inmates wrapi)ed in slumber. They Avere 
a little puzzled at first as to Iioav they should reach their room 
Avithout arousing grandfather and grandmother Benson, both 
of whom AA^ere light sleepers. 


150 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


They stood for a few moments by the door in the ell, 
discussing the situation, when a bright thought suddenly 
occurred to Eaymond. He remembered that the window in 
his room was' open, for grandmother Benson hrmly believed in 
giving sleeping apartments an abundance of pure air. The 
ladder which he and Byer had used in their burglar joke 
leaned against the side of the shed where grandfather Benson 
had used it in patching a leak in the roof. By its aid the two 
"sperits” who had exerted such a magic influence upon Noah 
Griffin, Avere soon snoring soundly between the Avarm blankets 
of the bed in Raymond’s den. 

A few days later Raymond Avas awakened in the small 
hours of the morning by a noise in the stal)le. He and Byer 
hastened out to see Avhat the trouble Avas, and discovered one 
of the horses cast in his stall. After a good deal of Avork 
they succeeded in getting him on his feet again. As they 
Avere passing from the stable to the ell of the house, in return- 
ing to their room, Raymond caught a glimpse of someone 
dodging behind the barn. Hastily telling Byer Avhat he had 
seen, and leaving him to Avatch, he rushed to the shed and 
seized a single-1 )arreled shot gun Avhich hung there, and Avhich 
had been heavily loaded Avith double B shot for the benefit of 
a liaAvk that had made occasional raids upon the poultry. 
Thus armed he hastened toAvards the barn, Byer accompany- 
ing him with the lantern. As they reached the yard a sheet 
of flame shot up from the corner of the great building, and 
by its light tAvo men Avere seen running in the direction of 
the cedar SAvamp. In a moment Raymond’s gun Avas at his 
shoulder, and a sharp report rang out upon the night. 

"I’A^e hit one, sure’s the Avorld, Byer,” he cried exultingly, 
as the smoke cleared aAAay. "but Ave can’t follow him noAV. 



‘A SHAKJ* REPORT RANG OUT UPON THE NIGHT ” (Page 150) 





4 


9 









THE BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON'S BARN. 151 


Go into the tie-up and let out the cattle. The hay mows are 
on fire and we can’t save the building.” 

Byer hastened to do as directed, and soon the cattle came 
rushing into the yard, bellowing with fright. In a few 
moments the great building was one vast roaring mass of 
flame, and when Dud and Mr. and Mrs. Benson arrived on 
the scene it lit up the whole country for miles around with its 
briMit "lare. 

o o 

Fortunately the barn stood a good distance from the other 
buildings and there was no wind, otherwise all would doul)t- 
less have gone. The great sparks and cinders flew about in 
the draught created by the intense heat and many of them fell 
upon the other buildings. It required the most unceasing 
vigilance to keep them from accomplishing still further 
destruction. 

Very soon the neighbors began to flock in from every 
direction. In a short time a large number of people were on 
the ground. A bucket brigade was formed from the brook 
to the house which, together with the neighboring out-build- 
ings, was thoroughly wet down. But no attempt was made 
to save the barn. Any such effort would have been useless, 
for it was a veritable tinder box, built as it was of old growth 
pine and filled full with hay and straw. 

While grandfather Benson and the neighbors were looking 
after the house and the surrounding buildings, Kayrnond and 
Byer hastened in the direction of the swamp to look for the 
fire-bug who had been shot. After a careful search they 
discovered him in a clump of alder bushes, on the edge of the 
timber, where he had evidently crawled for concealment, 
though the blood-stained track he left behind him would have 
speedily revealed his hiding place. He was a dark- 


152 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


skinned man about foi-ty years of age. His clothing had been 
patched so many times that it was difficult to tell what had 
been the original texture. There was an ugly looking wound 
in his hip, from which the blood flowed profusely. He was 
evidently suffering intense pain, but he gritted his teeth in a 
savage attempt to stifle the groans that were on his lips. It 
was evident that he did not purpose to show any weakness in 
the presence of his pursuers. 

"You been keeled me, curse you,” he groaned fiercely, as 
the boys bent over him. 

"Nonsense,” responded Raymond. "You are very far from 
being a corpse yet. A dead man wouldn’t have any such 
amount of voice and venom.” 

"It would be your own fault if you should die,” added 
Byer. "We didn’t cause you to burn that barn. That’s a 
pretty hard crime and will give you lots to think about in the 
future. The punishment for arson is the same as for murder 
in this state — imprisonment at hard labor for life.” 

The wounded man remained sullenly silent, evidently feeling 
that this was the wisest course to pursue. 

"He’s suffering too much to care about that now, Byer,” 
said Raymond. "Where did old Pete go ?” he added abruptly 
to the incendiary. 

"Down in — no, what I been saying? There wasn’t been 
no Pete with me.” 

"You know better than that,” answered Raymond. "You 
started out to tell the truth, and you had better do it. There 
is nothing to be gained by concealment. Old Pete Atkins 
was with you. He was the one who hired you to assist in 
this job.” 

The wounded man made no reply, but gritted his teeth and 


THE BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON’S BARN. 153 


closed his lips firmly together. He was evidently afraid to 
open his mouth, lest something should escape that ought not 
to. Byer remained with him while Kaymond went for some 
of the neighbors and an old mattress, upon which the man 
was borne to Mr. Benson’s house. His arrival created no lit- 
tle excitement among the people there. They crowded about 
him as he lay in the center of the big kitchen floor, but none 
of them recognized him. He was a stranger to all. The 
looks that were given him were far from friendly. Some of 
the hot bloods made open talk of lynching him, while many 
of the cooler heads thought he should be immediately taken 
to Bolton and lodged in jail. Among those who inclined to 
this latter opinion were Mr. Grover and Dean Percy. 

'Ht’s no use to take any chances with such fellows, Andrew,” 
insisted the latter. "I tell you they are worse than poison, 
and are always turning up when we escape the rust and rot, 
to destroy our property and make it harder than ever to pay 
our taxes.” 

"I shouldn’t keep him here an hour,” said IVIr. Grover, 
emphatically, and it was evident that his view of the matter 
was the one very generally entertained by the crowd. 

'H can't do that, neighbors,” said grandfather Benson, slowly. 
^'The man is dangerously shot and at my door. It makes no 
difference what he has done to me or mine. It is my duty to 
take Christian care of him, and not act the part of a heathen. 
IVhen he is fully able to stand the journey, we will take him 
to Bolton — not before. Dud, I wish you would take the bay 
mare and go after Dr. Lemons. Fix up the bed in the spare 
room, mother, and we’ll see that this man is well cared for. 
Perhaps you had better get some bandages ready for the doc- 
tor when he comes.” 


154 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


The neighbors offered no further objections, though the 
opinion was freely expressed among them on the way home 
that not one man in a thousand Avould have acted that way 
towards a man who had burned his barn, and that if there 
was ever a truly Christian man in town it was Uncle Andrew 
Benson. 

Dr. Lemons pronounced the injury of the incendiary to be 
by no means a fatal one. He found his patient weak from 
loss of blood, but, after he had carefully dressed the wound, 
he expressed the opinion that the man could safely be moved 
to Bolton inside of a week. 

”The hay is the worst loss,” said grandfather Benson to 
Kaymond that evening as they stood by the charred ruins which 
the fire had left. ”The barn itelf was fairly well insured, 
and you and Byer were able to save the stock. All my grain 
was threshed and in the bins of the stable. After all, we 
have reason to be thankful that we escaped so easily.” 

" I wish it had been old Pete I shot instead of his confed- 
rate.” 

"Peter who?” — grandfather Benson never used nicknames. 

"Atkins.” 

"What of him?” 

"Why, he is the one who set that barn afire.” 

"That is a very serious charge to bring against a fellow 
townsman.” 

"But I know it was he,” and thereupon Raymond related 
the circumstances under which he had shot Pete’s dog ; the 
angry threats the old man had indulged in, and the half 
admission which the wounded man had made in the swamp to 
him and Byer. 

Grandfather Benson listened to his story with evident sur- 


THE BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON’S BARN. 155 


prise. "I wish I had known of these things before,” he said 
thoughtfully. 

”I know I ought to have told you,” said Raymond regret- 
fully, "but I was afraid that you and grandmother would 
worry about it.” 

"Perhaps we might, my boy, but it would have lifted a load 
from your shoulders. You mustn’t try to bear such burdens 
all alone.” 

"I’m to blame for all this, grandfather,” said Raymond 
impulsively. 

"Not at all. I don’t see that you are to blame for any of 
it. If the fellow in the house gets well and is punished, 
together with his confederate, I shall think that what has 
been our small loss has been the town’s great gain. I should 
not like to think that you had taken the life of a fellow man, 
even though you detected him in the commission of a capital 
crime.” 

"It won’t be my fault, grandfather, if this night’s work isn’t 
the beginning of the end of Pete Atkins’s career in this town,” 
said Raymond earnestly, as he went to his room to catch a 
little troubled sleep after the excitements of the night. 


156 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL. 

” Halloo, Raymond, what in the world are you doing 
here ? ” 

It was Ned Grover who asked this question and as he spoke 
he threw down a number of steel traps which he carried on 
his shoulder and seated himself upon the stump of a large fir 
which his friend had just cut down near his camp in the 
swamp. 

"I’m making sap troughs.” 

Sap troughs. Where in the world do you expect to use 
them?” 

"Right here on this farm.” 

"I don’t see where you’ll find maples enough.” 

"I’ll not, in one place, hut by taking them all about the 
farm I think I can find fully four hundred that will do to tap. 
I expect to do quite a business from them next spring.” 

"It will be lots of work collecting the sap, won’t it?” 

"Yes, but I sha’n’t mind that. You see, it will come at 
that season of the year when we've little else to do. I shall 
have plenty of time at my disposal and can attend to it with- 
out any trouble.” 

"Where will you boil the sap down?” 

"In the shed. I’m going to have those two large farmer’s 


THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL. 


157 


boilers for evaporators. Besides those, I shall have a small 
kettle on the kitchen stove to syrup off in. I’m inclined to 
think I shall not make much of any sugar. It will take too 
much time.” 

'’That’s a good idea. What will you do with your syrup?” 

"Sell it.” 

"Well, I guess you won’t have any trouble in doing that. 
It’s strange that more farmers don’t go into the business in 
this county.” 

"It has been a surprise to me, too. In Vermont or New 
Hampshire a good farm would hardly be considered complete 
without its sap orchard with its sap house right in the midst 
of the trees. They use large shallow pans there for evap- 
orators, and have many ingenious contrivances for collecting 
the sap. I visited several orchards at Sandwich, New Hamp- 
shire, a few years ago, and was very much interested in the 
work. A good sap orchard properly conducted will supply 
the family with sugar for the whole year. The maple sugar 
can usually be exchanged pound for pound, or better, for 
granulated at the stores. So you see this is quite an impor- 
tant industry on a farm. The cost of sugar is more to a 
family you know than the cost of flour.” 

" It seems to me that you are starting your operations pretty 
early. It’s a long time yet before spring.” 

"I know it, but it’s going to be considerable of a task to 
cut all my troughs and get my spiles ready. Besides, I may 
not be able to work at it for weeks at a time. Where are you 
going with those traps ? ” 

"Down where the old horse was carried. The lynxes and 
foxes have been holding hmh carnival there.” 

"I can tell you a better way than that to get at them.” 


158 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"How?” 

"Get some strychnine and sprinkle it over the carcass.” 

"That wouldn’t do at all. The law provides that any per- 
son who leaves poison within two hundred rods of any 
improved land shall be fined not less than twenty or more 
than fifty dollars, or be imprisoned between thirty and sixty 
days. Father showed me the law in the revised statutes this 
very morning.” 

"I don’t see the sense of such a law.” 

"You don’t? Well, I do. Poison is a plaguey risky thing 
to handle. Somebody poisoned a fox with strychnine on the 
edge of Dean Percy’s pasture a few years ago. The next 
season a valuable cow that ate the grass, that grew over the 
spot where the bait was dropped, was killed by the poison. 

"Who told you that?” demanded Raymond. 

"Dean himself.” 

"Weill, don’t take a mite of stock in it. His cow probably 
got sick and died. Not knowing what the real trouble was, 
he laid it to that. It doesn’t stand to reason that there would 
be enough poison left in the place where it was deposited, 
after it had been diluted a thousand times by the snows of 
winter and the rains of spring, to kill an animal as large as a 
cow, even if she had made a cud of the whole sod, instead of 
the grass that grew out of it. The frost alone would have 
been enough to have taken the strength out of the poison in 
that length of time. Why, if your theory were correct, 
nobody would ever dare to use a field again after it had been 
plastered with a powerful poison like Paris green.” 

"I think you’re wrong, Raymond. Strychnine will hold 
its strength wonderfully. I’ve heard of lots of similar cases. 
Why should they pass a law to keep it two hundred rods from 


THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL. 


159 


the clearings if it is all harmless by the time the stock is 
turned out in the spring ? ” 

"To prevent its use in summer, probably. I don’t believe, 
though, that it was specially designed to i)rotect stock. It 
was probably enacted for the benefit of dogs.” 

"I don’t think so. I know I shouldn’t want anyone poison- 
ing wild animals near the clearings on our farm.’' 

"Do you remember the first bear we ever saw?” asked 
Kaymond, abruptly changing the subject. 

"Well, I guess I do,” laughed Ned. "It was on the birch 
ridge on your grandfather’s back lot. We were out partridge 
hunting, and had told each other what sport we’d have if we 
could only run across a bear ; how we would kill and stuff' it, 
and make a nice little sum by selling it to a museum oV 
dime show.” 

"Yes,” said Raymond, "and just what we’d do with the 
money we’d get for it.” 

"We had everything all planned out,” continued Ned, "and 
were deep in a discussion of some of the minor details, when 
what should we see over the l)row of the ridge but a real, 
genuine bear. AVeren’t we frightened boys, though. It 
seemed to me that I could feel every hair on my head stand 
straight on end, and my heart fairly pound against my ribsc 
I wheeled about and ran for home at the top of my speed 
without taking the gun from my shoulder. You were not far 
behind me, either.” 

"No,” said Raymond, "I guess I wasn’t. AYhen I got down 
near the cross road I threw the first look I had dared to over 
my shoulder, and found to my intense relief, that the bear 
wasn’t following us. Then I grew bold again, and coming up 
to where you were waiting on the bars for me, I demanded in 


160 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


tones of lofty indignation Avhy you ran away with the gun 
just as I was ready to shoot that bear. You didn’t take the 
bluff, though, but answered coolly, 'It’s no use to play bold 
now. You were just as scared as I was.’ I made no reply 
to that assertion. 1 couldn’t deny it.” 

"I guess we were the two most frightened boys in Maine 
about that time,” laughed Ned. "Well, each of us has had 
the fun of shooting a bear since that, though, as Allen 
Webster says, that doesn’t make us sportsmen. Both of them 
were in traps.” 

"Well, I believe I had rather have them there, sportsman 
or no sportsman,” answered Kaymond. "I’m not ambitious 
to indulge in the Joel Webber style of bear hunting.” 

* Both boys laughed heartily at this allusion. 

"Oh, I saw Sam Brown this forenoon,” exclaimed Ned 
suddenly, as if the fact had just occurred to him. "He 
was on his way home from Bolton. He saw your fire-bug 
there and says he is the very same man that was with Pete 
Atkins, when he and his cousin saw them at Amos Dole’s old 
camp on Bower Brook.” 

"I had suspected that,” said Kaymond. "I have no doubt 
that he is the fellow who has helped Pete in his smuggling 
operations, and that they were returning from one of their 
trips over the line when Sam saw them.” 

"I never had a doubt of it.” 

"I’m glad to learn of Sam’s visit to the jail. It furnishes 
me with an important piece of testimony.” 

"Well, I hope you may get enough to drive old Pete out of 
town. It would be the best thing that possibly could happen 
for Chestnut,” said Ned, as he gathered up his traps and 
continued on through the swamp. 


THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL. 


KU 


Grandfather Benson said very little at supper time when 
Raymond told him of Sam Brown’s discovery, but the next 
day a warrant was sworn out against Pete Atkins on charge 
of arson, and before night he was occupying quarters near his 
partner in the Bolton jail. 

It was a week later when the trial of the two men came off. 
Two of the ablest lawyers in Bolton had been engaged to 
defend the prisoners, and the case attracted wide attention. 

Against the first man, who gave his name as Jean Gambier, 
and his native place at Montreal, the evidence was conclusive. 
Ilis counsel made no attempt at defense, but confined them- 
selves to an efibrt to secure a light sentence, upon the ground 
that their client Avas not the principal in the crime, but that 
he Avas in fact merely the tool of some stronger man Avho had 
planned the afiair and himself applied the torch. It is possi- 
ble that they might have met AA’ith some degree of success if 
their client had revealed the name of his accomplice. But 
this he stubbornly refused to do. As a result he aatis not 
successful in securing any sympathy, The direct testimony 
of Raymond and Byer Ames told heavily against him, and he 
AA^as given the full penalty of the law. 

The people of Chestnut AA^ere very much interested in the 
trial of Pete Atkins, and a number of them were in attend- 
ance at the court house Avhen his case came up. 

Byer testified to seeing tAA^o men run from the fire. One 
of them he identified as Gambier. The other he believed to- 
be Atkins, but did not get a fair look at his face, and AA^ould 
not be Avilling to sAA^ear positively as to his identity. He 
related the facts connected Avith the discovery of Gambier, 
and the slip he had made in his partial answer to Raymond’s 
question regarding the direction in which Pete Atkins had 


TIIR SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


1()2 


gone. After a l)rLef cross examination he was excused and 
liaymond took the stand. Ilis direct testimony was simply 
a corroboration of Byer’s, with the exception that he positively 
identified Atkins as the second incendiary. At its close the 
leading attorne}' for Atkins, a sharp, incisive man, began a 
cross examination. 

”How long have you known ]Mr. Atkins?” 

"'About six years.” 

"When did you see him last, prior to the fire?” 

"About two weeks before.” 

"Where?” 

"In the road on Bent Hill.” 

" How far is that from your home ? ” 

"About a mile.” 

"Where had you been?” 

"On a partridge hunt.” 

"Were alone at the time?” 

"Yes.” 

"On that occasion did you shoot a dog belonging to Mr. 
Atkins?” 

"I did.” 

"And this caused some pretty sharp words between you, 
did it not?” 

"Yes.” 

"Mr. Atkins was naturally angry at the killing of his valu- 
able dog and threatened to whip you, did he not?” 

"He did.” 

" Did he approach you with that evident purpose ? ” 

"Yes.” 

" What did you do ? ” 

"I told him not to try it.” 


i 


THE FAMOUS AKSOX TRIAL. 


163 


”Did you point your gun at him?” 

^'No, sir.” . 

"'You are quite sure of that?” 

"Yes, sir.” 

"Did you tell him you Mould shoot him if he struck you?” 
"Yes.” 

"You M'ere j)retty angry, were you not?” 

"Yes, sir.” 

"AVhat did ]Mr. Atkins do Avhen you told him you’d shoot 
if he struck you?” 

"He got into his Magon and drove off.” 

"You have had a grudge against him ever since then, have 
you not?” 

"Xo, sir. I had no reason to. He didn’t touch me.” 

"You entertain bitter feelinirs concernino^ the affair, do you 
not?” 

"The memory of it is not a pleasant one.” 

"Precisely. In other M^ords, you are an enemy to Atkins ?” 
"Not exactly. I am not one of his friends, rather.” 

"Ho\v long MTis it after you shot at Gambier before you 
conversed M’ith him?” 

"About twenty minutes, I should say.” 

"His Mmund mtis a severe one was it not?” 

It was.” 

"He 'svas bleeding badly Mhen you came to him?” 

"Yes.” 

"And very Aveak from the loss of blood?” 

"Quite so.” 

"He must have been suffering severe pain, mustn’t he?” 

"I should say that he Mas.” 

"Pie M^as not in very good physical condition, then?” 


164 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Certainly not.” 

"Not in a condition to be really responsible for what he 
said, was he?” 

"I shonld think he was.” 

"You should lliuik that he was — now, as a matter of fact, 
don’t you know he was not?” 

"No, sir.” 

"Wasn’t his language somewhat incoherent?” 

"Not at all. I think he understood })erfectly well what he 
was saying.” 

"Still you will admit that it would not be sur})rising if he 
were not able to think very clearly, under the circumstances?” 

"Perhaps not.” 

"That will do, sir,” said the lawyer, with the air of a man 
who had won most important concessions from the witness. 

"One moment,” said the county attorney, as Raymond was 
al)out to step from the stand. "Had you ever had any trouble 
with Atkins prior to the night you shot his dog?” 

"No, sir. None whatever.” 

"Did you do anything to provoke his dog?” 

"No, sir. The dog ran up and seized me by the leg. 
I'hat was the first I saw of it, and I had said nothing Avhat- 
ever to it.” 

"You naturally object to being bitten by any man’s dog, 
do you not ? ” 

"I do, certainly.” 

"Did you know when this dog seized you that it belonged 
to Atkins?” 

"I did not.” 

" So your treatment of it had no' connection with the owner- 


THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL. 


165 


’'None whatever.” 

"You would have done the same, whoever had owned it?” 

"I should, certainly.” 

"Did Atkins make any threats?” 

"Yes, sir.” 

"AVhat were they?” 

"He said I would wish I had steered clear of him. 'When 
I told him I didn’t fear him, he said the time might come when 
I would sing a different tune.” 

"He gave you to understand very forcibly, did he not, that 
he meant to take revenofe on you for killino- his doir?” 

"Yes, sir.” 

"That will do, sir,” said the county attorney to Kayniond 
with a triumphant nod that was intended to impress the testi- 
mony upon the minds of the jury. 

At the request of the counsel for the defense, Byer Ames 
was recalled. 

"You stated, did you not,” asked the sharp-faced attorney, 
"that you were unable to see the face of Gambier’s companion 
on the night of the hre?” 

"Yes, sir.” 

"You thought it was Atkins, but would not be willing to 
swear to it?” 

"No, I would not be positive about it.” 

"'What led you to think that the man was Atkins?” 

"His general appearance.” 

"But you just stated to the court that you could not swear 
to his identity.” 

"That is true. I cannot.” 

"Now just reflect a moment. 'Was not the idea that the 
man was Mr. Atkins first suggested to you by young Benson ? ” 


166 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"I do not remember.” 

"Did he not cry out 'That’s Pete Atkins,’ or words to that 
effect ? ” 

"I do not recollect. I was too much excited at the time 
to recall now just what was said.” 

"He said something to you, did he not?” 

"I am not certain, but think he did.” 

"You do not remember what it was?” 

"I do not.” 

"Wasn't the occurrence of such a startling nature as would 
naturally fix its events in your mind?” 

"Yes, sir, its events, but not the conversation connected 
with them.” 

"You would not be willing to say that young Benson didn’t 
suggest to you that it was Atkins, would you?” 

"No, sir.” 

The lawyer turned toward the jury with an insinuating 
smile that was intended to convey the opinion that the wit- 
ness was unwilling to tell all he kneAV. He then opened upon 
Byer from another quarter. 

"When you found Gambler, he was very faint and weak,, 
was he not?” 

"Yes, sir.” 

"Unable to talk much?” 

" I should say rather unwilling.” 

"The feAV remarks that he made were disjointed and inco- 
herent, were they not?” 

"I did not notice that they were.” 

"You remember very distinctly, do you, his response to 
young Benson’s question relative to Atkins?” 

''I do. Yes, sir.” 


THE FAMOUS AKSOX TRIAL. 


1()7 

"Well now, sir,” said the lawyer, assuming a very stern 
look and tone, "will you explain to the jury how it is that 
your memory, which was so singularly defective regarding 
the remarks of young Benson, is so wonderfully retentive 
regarding those of Gambier, notwithstanding the fact, as 
shown by young Benson’s testimony, that both of these con- 
versations occurred within the same half hour?” 

"I don’t know. I did not notice what Raymond said to 
me. I was too much excited at the sight of the fire, and too 
intent on saving the stock. When I saw Gambier, I had left 
the fire behind, and there was nothing to distract my attention 
from him or his remarks.” 

"An ingenius explanation, but scarcely a satisfactory one,’’ 
sneered the attorney. "That will do, sir,” he added. 

"One moment, if you please,” said the county attorney, as 
Byer was about to lea\ e the stand. 

" When did you first know of Raymond Benson’s trouble 
with Atkins ? ” 

"When he told it here in court.” 

"He has never said anything to you personally regarding 
it, has he?” 

" Xot a word.” 

"That is all,” said the attorney, and Byer stepped from the 
stand with a sigh of relief. 

Sam Brown was next called. He positively identified 
Gambier as the man whom he had seen with Pete Atkins a 
year before at Amos Dole’s camp on Bower Brook. His 
story of the circumstances under which the meeting occurred 
created a decided sensation in the court room, and for the first 
time during the trial Pete Atkins looked troubled and hitched 
about uneasily in his chair. One of the deputy collectors at 


168 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


the Custom House had stepped into the room for a moment, 
and it was evident that he was much interested in this testi- 
mony. Atkins had long been suspected of robbing Uncle 
Sam of a larire amount of custom duties, but the fifovernment 
officials, though they had tried a number of times, had never 
been able to fasten the crime upon him. 

A vigorous cross examination failed to shake in the least 
Sam’s direct testimony, and when he left the stand the case 
looked considerably darker for the defence. 

A number of other witnesses were called, from whom the 
attorney for the defence elicited the fact, despite the vigorous 
objections of the prosecuting officer to the admission of such 
testimony, that Raymond Benson had left the Free High 
School at Chestnut Corner owing to serious difficulty with 
the teacher — a difficulty in which he had exhibited a most 
vicious and insolent spirit. 

Cross examination by the county attorney, however, drew 
forth testimony to the effect that Raymond had enjoyed a 
good reputation among his fellow townsmen ; that he was 
known to be truthful , temperate and industrious ; that most 
of his pranks at the High School had been in the character of 
good natured fun ; that he was suffering with a headache 
when his trouble with Mr. Beecham occurred ; that he had 
subsequently made ample apology to the teacher, who had fully 
accepted it, frankly acknowledging that he had himself been 
partially to blame in the affair ; and that the two had parted 
the best of friends. The wife and sons of Atkins were then 
called to the witness stand and swore positively that he was 
not away from home on the night of the fire. This testimony 
was strongly corroborated l)y the hired man. An attempt 
was made to persuade Gambier to turn State’s evidence, but 
this he stoutly refused to do. 


THE FAMOUS ARSON TIMAL. 


169 


The prosecuting officer then introduced a large amount of 
evidence from Chestnut people to show the previous had 
character of Atkins ; and from Dr. Lemons to prove that at 
no time during his attendance upon Garni )ier wsls his patient 
out of his head or incapable of rational thought. This closed 
the taking of testimony. 

The counsel for the defense then addressed the jury. 

He reminded them that the case before them was one of 
grave impoi-tance. The prisoner at the bar was on trial for a 
capital crime, one that was accorded the severest penalty 
known to the law of the state. There was no fault to be 
found with this provision. The crime of arson was a most 
heinous one and deserved the most stringent punishment. It 
was necessary for the safety of property and life that the 
laws should so provide. But because of the very grave 
nature of this crime, and the severity of the penalty attaching 
to it, there was. all the more reason why an intelligent and 
impartial jury should exercise the greatest consideration before 
fixing so great a stigma upon a fellow man, and depriving him 
of the God-given rights of life, lil^erty and the pursuit of 
happiness. None but the most direct and positive evidence 
should be allowed the slightest weight in such a case. It was 
a serious responsibility to deal with the future of a human 
life — to say whether it should have the full and rational 
existence that God designed for it, or should l)e consigned to 
a living death — a future with no hope of release until the 
final summons. Certainly such a grave trust as this was not 
to be lightly exercised. Upon what did the case against his 
client rest? What direct and positive testimony had been 
adduced to show that he had burned Andrew Benson’s barn? 
Not a particle. The principal witness in the prosecution of 


170 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


Mr. Atkins was a boy who had been shown to have a personal 
grudge against him, growing out of a quarrel between the two 
over the killing of the prisoner’s dog. It might have been 
that Mr. Atkins had made use of strong language upon that 
occasion. There was nothing surprising in that. Few men 
would tamely sulnnit to the wanton killing of a favorite and 
valualde dog by an irresponsible boy. There was nothing 
1)ut the boy’s word to show that the dog had bitten him, and 
what reliance was to be placed on that? Who was this boy, 
anyway? One who had been shown, by the testimony of 
reliable witnesses, to be possessed of a vicious character, so 
vicious indeed that he had come very near assaulting his 
teacher a few weeks l^efore with a heavy ruler. As a result 
of this he had left school for the evident purpose of avoiding 
expulsion. What did the testimony of such a boy amount to, 
especially when he was shown by his own admissions to have 
a personal hostility to the man against whom that testimony 
was directed ? Was such evidence as this forever to deprive 
a man of his liberty and civil rights ? He believed that the 
members of the jury would emphatically say no. Entertain- 
ing this grudge against Atkins young Benson was quick to 
detect, in the burning of his grandfather's barn, an opportunity 
for revenge. With this in mind he had artfully suggested to 
Ames the name of the })risoner at the l)ar as the second 
incendiary, a suggestion that in the darkness and excitement 
found a ready credence. Still further was the craft of young 
Benson exhibited in the abrupt question he had put to Gambier 
in the presence of Ames. That question was a leading one. 
It was put because young Benson saw that Gambier was in a 
condition to make any admission he desired him to. The 
man was weakened by the loss of blood. He was suffering 


THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL. 


171 


intense agony. He was not in the slightest degree cognizant 
of or responsible for his fevered and incoherent utterances. 
Such testimony was worthless. It should not be given a 
moment’s consideration in a case of such gravity. Of what 
importance had lieen the testimony of young Brown ? It had 
simply tended to show that Gambier and Atkins had once 
been seen together more than a year before. There was 
nothing very damaging in this, even if it were true. But 
there was the strongest reason to believe that this had been 
a case of mistaken identity. Both Gambier and Atkins })osi- 
tively denied that they had ever seen each other before they 
met at the jail. A year was a long time, and it was an easy 
thing for a l)oy like Brown to be mistaken in a case of identity 
where the meeting occurred so far back. Citizens of Chestnut 
had been brought in by the prosecution to testify to Atkins’s 
bad character, but in nearly every instance cross examination 
had revealed the fact that they cherished personal feeling 
against the prisoner. Clearly such evidence was not of a 
reliable character, and should not be permitted to convict any 
man of so terrible a crime. The wife and sons of Atkins had 
fully established an alibi for him by showing that he was not 
absent from home at all on the night of the fire. This evidence 
was substantiated by the direct testimony of Donald Green, 
the hired man, who returned at half past two from a dance at 
Chestnut Corner and spoke with Atkins as he passed his bed- 
room door. 

The defence then closed with a strong appeal to the jury to 
exclude every particle of testimony that Avas tainted with 
personal malice, and deal Avith the prisoner in an impartial 
spirit of fairness and justice. 


172 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER XII. 

AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT. 

It was very evident that the plea of the defense had made 
a deep impression upon the minds of the jury, and 
all eyes were turned expectantly upon the county attorney 
when he arose to make the closing argument. He spoke, in 
opening, of the terrible crime of arson ; one that frequently 
destroyed not only valuable property, but human life. With 
the fire-bug abroad in the land who could feel safe when he 
retired for the iiiHit ? Criminals of this class crive no thouoht 
to their victims. Strong men might be able to escape the 
terrors of the flames, but what a fate awaited the helpless 
women and children, suflbcated with smoke, and unable to get 
out of the burning homes which incendiarism had converted 
into funeral pyres. It was well for society’s sake that the 
law dealt severely with such criminals ; otherwise who would 
be safe ? It was the solemn duty of those charged with the 
administrati:)!! of justice to see that such men did not escape, 
when once they came within the strong clutches of the law, 
but that the full measure of punishment was meted out to 
them. It would be impossible to conceive of a much stronger 
case than that against Atkins. The positive testimony of 
young Brown had established the fact that Gambier and 
Atkins had been seen together more than a year before the 


AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT. 


173 


burning of Mr. Benson’s Imrn. They were evidently confed- 
erates, and the mysterious sacks which they had carried at the 
time when young Brown saw them might very likely have 
furnished interesting facts for the Custom House officials, could 
they have known the contents of them. 

There v/as no blame attached to Kaymond Benson for 
shooting Atkins’s dog. The act was purely one of self defense 
and was done without any knowledge whatever of the owner- 
ship of the dog. It appeared from the evidence that Atkins 
had worked himself into a terrible rage over this affair, and 
had fiercely threatened young Benson with vengeance. That 
vengeance had come soon after in the burning of Andrew 
Benson’s barn. It was a strange, unreasoning retaliation ; 
but the testimony of a number of the best known and most 
respected citizens of Chestnut had shown that Atkins was of 
just the calibre to resort to such a method of satiating his 
malice. In this crime whom would he more naturally have 
selected as an assistant than the man Gambier, who had been 
his confederate in other mysterious, if not shady transactions? 
The guilt of this man had been established and he had been 
given the full penalty of the law. Why, then, should the 
principal in that crime be permitted to escape the punishment 
he so richly merited ? Such a result would be plainly contrary 
to the spirit of justice. Atkins had been positively identified 
by Eaymond Benson, who had seen him in the light of the 
burning barn running toward the swamp. This testimony 
was corroborated by Ames, who saw the man and believed 
him to be Atkins. 

An attempt had been made to discredit the direct and dam- 
aging testimony of Kaymond Benson, but it had proved una- 
vailing. He had been shown by the testimony of leading 


174 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


citizens of Chestnut to be a young man of undoul)ted integ- 
rity. Not only was Atkins plainly seen by liayinond Ben- 
son, but Gambier had practically admitted that he was his 
companion. This was established l)y the direct testimony of 
both Ames and young Benson. That was an important piece 
of testimony, coming, as it did, from one of the incendiaries. 
It was in itself almost sufficient to convict Atkins of arson, 
even were it unsupported by any other evidence. There was 
not the slightest reason to believe that Gambier was not in 
complete possession of all his faculties. This was shown not 
only by the testimony of Ames and Eaymond Benson, but by 
the still stronger professional and entirely impartial evidence 
of Dr. Lemons. 

The attempt of the defense to establish an alibi had been 
painfully weak. The testimony had been furnished by mem- 
bers of the prisoner’s family, all but one of whom were 
impelled by the strongest motives that could come from kin- 
ship to save him, if possible, from the just consequences of 
his crime. The testimony of such interested parties should 
not be permitted to have weight. It deserved none. Much 
less should it be allowed to weigh against the evidence that 
positively connected the prisoner with this terrible crime. 
The county attorney closed with a strong plea to the jury to 
do their full duty and thus add to the protection of society 
by visiting upon Atkins the severe penalty of his crime, 
thereby deterring others from following in his footsteps. 

There was a profound silence in the court room at the close 
of this plea. In a few words the judge charged the jury, 
reviewing briefly the points of law involved in the case, and 
urging them to return an impartial verdict. It was more 
than an hour after they left the couii room before they returned, 


AN UNEXPECTED VEPtDICT. 


175 


and there was a painful stillness when the clerk inquired, 
” Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” 

’'We have,” responded the foreman. 

" Is the prisoner guilty or not guilty ? ” 

"Not guilty.” 

An angry murmur of surprise and disappointment ran 
around the room. It was apparent that the verdict was wholly 
unexpected. The evidence had l)een so strong against Atkins 
that his conviction was confidently and generally looked for. 

"It’s no use trying to get justice in that court,” said Ray- 
mond bitterly to his grandfather Benson, as they drove home 
after the trial. 

"Of course we are disappointed, my boy,” was the response, 
"but very likely we are not able to take the impartial view 
of the case that disinterested people are. Matters certainly 
looked differently to the jury than they do to us.” 

"Yes, that’s apparent. There was evidence enough there, 
though, to have convinced an average jury of Hottentots that 
Pete Atkins burned our barn. I never saw twelve such lunk- 
heads as were on that jury collected together in one group 
before. I tell you, it’s a sad thing for justice when the 
administration of it is left in such hands. There is some- 
thing wrong about the jury system, anyway. Scarcely a day 
passes that we do not hear of some knave escajang his just 
deserts through the failure of jurymen to do their duty.” 

"There is no doubt that justice frequently miscarries,” 
answered Mr. Benson slowly. "Men are by no means 
infallible in framing or administering laws. Still we owe a 
great deal to that wise provision which secures to every man 
charged with crime a fair, free trial before a jury of his peers. 
If you feel inclined to question this, compare our methods of 


176 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


conducting a criminal trial with those in vogue in China and 
Japan where the judge is supreme, and his one mind determines 
the life or death of the culprits that are tried before him. It 
is impossible that such a system can be in any true sense a 
judicial one. It is not surprising to read, in such cases, that 
courts of justice are also halls of torture.” 

"Perhaps you are right,” said Kaymond. "But I should 
feel humiliated to think that the men on that jury are my 
peers. Now that old Pete is out of limbo we shall have to be 
on the lookout for more mischief from him.” 

" I do not think he Avill trouble us further,” said Mr. Benson. 

"You don’t suppose a man of his revengeful nature will 
forget or forgive the raking over we gave him in court, do 
you?” 

"Probably not, but although Peter is a knave, he is by no 
means a fool. Public attention has been pretty much centered 
upon him by this trial, and he knows very well that if he 
should come before the court again he would be almost certain 
to go to Thomaston for a long term of years in the State Prison 
there. No, I will venture to say that, aside from his smuggling 
operations, he will keep pretty quiet for a while.” 

"I guess you are right,” answered Eaymond. "I hadn’t 
thought of that.” 

"How did it go?” asked Dean Percy, coming down the 
road to meet them as they passed his house. 

" Gambier was sentenced to State Prison for life,” responded 
Mr. Benson. 

"And old Pete?” 

"He was acquitted.” 

"Acquitted! Well I swan. I thought there would be 
evidence enough against him to jug him for life. I tell you 


AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT. 


177 


it is a hard world for a man who is poor and honest,” growled 
the misanthrope dolefully. "The villain that burns barns and 
smuggles liquor across the line goes free from the courts of 
justice to prosper and get rich through his knavery, while 
those of us who endeavor to live soberly and honestly have 
to scratch early and late to keep body and soul together, and 
get money enough to pay our taxes.” 

"Ah, well, Dean,” said Mr. Benson soothingly, "you know 
the Holy AVord tells us that a good name is rather to be 
chosen than great riches. About all any of us can hope to 
get out of this life is what we eat and drink and wear. A 
contented man is never poor. 

"I’ve heard that sort of talk before, Andrew,” said Dean 
with a mournful shake of his head. " It’s true. I’ll allow, that 
about all any of us can get out of this world is a living, but I 
tell you there is a pesky sight of difference in what men con- 
sider a living.” 

"That may be. Dean, but if a man is satisfied with his own 
lot, he will have no reason to feel envious of his neighbors.” 

"Perhaps not,” responded Mr. Percy doubtfully. "ATe 
can’t s(]uare our lives by maxims, though. I declare I felt so 
sure that the town was going to get rid of old Pete Atkins 
that I’m overcome with disappointment. Ilowsomever,” he 
added as Mr. Benson and Kaymond drove away, "there’s a 
jumping off place to most everything, and the day will come 
when that old scamp will find himself at the end of his rope. 
The jieople of this town are beginning to wake up. When 
we all pull together it will mean the end of the rum business 
here in Chestnut.” 

"He’s the most peculiar man I ever saw,” said Raymond 
when they were out of hearing. "Here he is, one of the 


178 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


most well-to-do men in town, and yet he is always grumbling 
about his taxes and fearing he will come to want.” 

"He comes naturally enough by his despondent turn of 
mind,” said Mr. Benson. "It has run in the family for sev- 
eral generations. It is hereditary melancholia. There 
haven’t been any of the Percys that I have ever known who 
were wholly free from it. I think Dean is the most cheerful 
one in the lot.” 

"I pity the others, then,” said Raymond. 

"His great grandfather, Jason Percy, cleared that place,” 
continued grandfather Benson, musingly. "He was a terri- 
bly down spirited man. Everything in life looked gloomy to 
him. He grew worse as he grew older, and one day they 
found him dead in the shed chamber where he had cut his 
throat with an old razor. It caused great excitement in Chest- 
nut, I can tell you. His widow lived to be nearly a hundred 
years old, and was one of the most lively and talkative old 
ladies in the town. She used to knit a great deal, and one of 
my earliest recollections is of going there with yarn that my 
mother spun to get her to knit me some winter socks and 
mittens. She was very fond of using big words, frequently 
with an amusing disregard for their meanino^. She and her 
husband came to Chestnut from the province of New Bruns- 
wick. The town was young then, and, like others of the 
early settlers, they underwent a great many hardships. These 
Marm Percy loved dearly to relate. ^Ah,’ she would say, 
peering at me over the gold bows of her glasses, 'When we 
first came to this county we went through all the animosities 
and pomposities that a poor man and woman could go through. 
We lost all our cattle except one old horse — and Ae died.’ 
It’s a peculiar fact,” continued Mr. Benson, reflectively, "that 


AN UNEXPECTKl) VEKDTCT. 


179 


every one of those Percy men whom I have known has had a 
hustling, cheerful little woman for a wife. If it hadn’t been 
for that I think more of them might have followed Jason’s 
example.” 

"It’s the attraction of extremes,” said Raymond. 

"I suppose so. It shows, however, how wisely everything 
is ordered in nature, that such an attraction should exist 
between people of entirely different temperaments.” 

"Yes, that is true,” assented Raymond. 

" They used to tell some amusing stories concerning Jason’s 
widow,” continued grandfather Benson, with a merry chuckle 
at the recollection. "At the time her husband died the 
Groves Farm was owned by Major Reno, a jolly, whole souled 
man, long since passed to the other side, who loved a joke 
better than he did his dinner. He could never resist prac- 
ticing his drolleries upon mother Percy, but for all that the 
old lady thought a good deal of him, and was a frequent visi- 
tor at his house. One time when there had been a long drought 
she came to him exclaiming : 

' Did you ever see anything like this ? ’ 

'My soul, said the Major blandly. This is nothing, 
nothing at all, Mrs. Percy. IVhen I was a boy we had 
such a terrible drought that we had to drive our cattle 
nine miles, and ferry them across three rivers to get them to 
water.’ 

'Sakes alive ! Do tell 1’ said the old lady in genuine sur- 
prise, and she hurried off home to tell Jason, whom she 
found l)emoaning the want of rain, and, as usual, predicting 
dire calamity. 

'Why, this isn't anything, father,’ she said. 'When Major 
Reno was a boy, they had such a terrible drought that they 


180 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


had to drive the cattle nine miles and ferry them across three 
rivers to get them to water.’ 

'Mercy sakes ! ’ responded the old gentlemen. 'Why didn’t 
they water them at the first one ?’ 

'I declare to goodness, I never thought of that,’ said the 
old lady in great chagrin, and it was a long time before she 
again put any stock in what Major Reno said. She regained 
confidence in him in time, however. One day he called at 
her house for a moment, and got to discussing the matter of 
miracles with her. From that the conversation drifted on to 
faith, which the Major sagely asserted was the foundation of 
all miracles. 'Why,’ said he, Mf you should fill your oven 
with stones and have sufficient faith to believe they would 
come out buscuit, they would do so.’ 

'Well,’ said the good woman dubiously, 'I have a good 
oven now and I don’t know as we shall ever have a better 
chance to try it.’ So she hurried out to the rock pile and 
got her apron full of stones about the size of biscuits and put 
them in the oven. She waited about twenty minutes and 
then opened the door, but the metamorphosis hadn’t occurred. 

'There !’ she exclaimed a little tartly, 'they’re stones and I 
knew they’d be.’ 

'You knew they’d be stones, did you?’ queried the Major 
choking back a laugh. 'Well, that accounts for it. You 
didn’t have the necessary faith,' and he went chuckling up the 
road. 

Those Percys are a peculiar lot. There was one of them, 
an aunt of Dean’s, who married a Russian Jew by the name 
of Dart. I guess he led her a most uncomfortable life. At 
any rate, she didn’t appear to take it much to heart when he 
was finally arrested for smuggling and sent to prison for a 


AN UNEXPECTED AEPDICT. 


181 


long term of years. He died there. He and his wife had 
one child, Simon, who keeps the store at the Corner. He is 
a most peculiar fellow, apparently uniting the Percy melan- 
choly with the penurious grasping of his father — a most 
unhappy combination. They used to say that he starved and 
abused his mother ; at any rate, the poor woman finally went 
crazy and was taken to the Insane Hospital at Augusta, where 
she afterwards died.” 

"I never heard that before,” said Raymond with evident 
interest. 

”It was before your day and generation. Simon has been 
in trade at the Corner for over thirty years. He took the 
store from his mother, who carried it on for a few years after 
his father was sent to i)rison. It is nearly twenty years since 
she died, and she was at the hospital six or seven years. It 
has been a long time since the State Insane Asylum has been 
without a Percy. Dean has an aunt, an uncle and a sister 
there now.” 

"That’s certainly news to me,” said Raymond in surprise. 

"IVell, there is very little said about it nowadays, though 
all the older people in town are acquainted with the facts.” 

"What sur[)rises me most,” said Raymond, "is to learn that 
Simon Dart is connected with that family.” 

"Well, it’s a fact, though one that his mother’s people have 
never felt very proud of. AVith all its peculiarities the Percy 
family has been and is one of the best in town. Its members 
have been upright, Christian people, and no one could wish 
for better neighbors.” 

"I am glad that you have told me these things, grand- 
fiither,” said Raymond as they drove into the yard at home. 
"It will <rive me a new interest in the old families of the town. 


182 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


Besides, your stories have cured a fit of the blues in me. The 
rasping down that lawyer gave me was not very pleasant.” 

'"I thought as much,” responded Mr. Benson with a cheer- 
ful smile. "It seemed to me that it would be a good plan to 
set you to thinking about something else.” 

Late the following afternoon, as Raymond was getting the 
mail at the Corner post office, he w^as attracted by a notice on 
the little bulletin board in front of the boxes, around which a 
curious and excited group were gathered. Elbowing his way 
to the front he read the following : 

$100 REWARD!! 

For the arrest and conviction, or informa- 
tion THAT WILL LEAD TO THE ARREST AND CON- 
VICTION, OF ANY PARTIES BRINGING SMUGGLED GOODS 
INTO THE TOWN OF ChESTNUT. 

JAMES REEVES, 

Collector of Customs. 

"Well, I declare !” said Raymond. "I never knew before 
that the government had a fund set aside for that purpose.” 

"That offer doesn’t really come from the government,” said 
Joel Webber quietly, as he drew him aside. 

" Whom does it come from ? ” 

"Citizens of this town. I surmise your grandfather Ben- 
son may have put in something towards it. You see Chest- 
nut people were thoroughly interested in the trial of old Pete 
Atkins, and were very anxious to see him convicted. None 
of them looked for anything else, consequently they were terri- 
bly disappointed when the old fellow was acquitted yesterday. 
They had hoped that he would be sent to Thomaston, and that 
the town would thus become well rid of him. After he was 


AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT. 


183 


cleared of the arson charge, a number of our leading citizens 
met in a room at the Crawford house and talked the matter 
over. They decided that the only way left for transporting 
him would be to convict him of smuggling. All felt confident 
that he had been in the business for years, and that the man 
Gambier was one of his confederates in it. If they could 
only fix that crime upon him Uncle Sam would take precious 
good care of him for some time to come. With this purpose 
in view a purse, of one hundred dollars was made up. A 
committee of the meeting waited upon Mr. Reeves, the col- 
lector of customs, and easily persuaded him to take charge of 
the reward. He has been trying to trap Pete for the last 
three or four years, but the old fellow has always eluded 
him.” 

"I think this will bring him, if he keeps on at the business,” 
said Raymond, confidently. 

'M think so, too,” responded Joel, tell you, this reward 
has created a good deal of excitement in town. It was posted 
here late yesterday afternoon by one of the deputy collectors, 
who rode out from Bolton with the printed bills. At five 
o’clock this morning a strong party was on its way from here 
to Letter K. to examine Amos Dole’s old camp at Bower 
Brook, and the vioinity around it. It is believed that old 
Pete has carried on his smuggling operations somewhere near 
there. A few of the party got back a little while ago. The 
others are going to camp right there and continue the search. 
They mean to push matters pretty vigorously from this time 
forth.” 

What did they find at the camp?” 

"Nothing out of the way. Old Ike Wallace and a French- 
man named Ganot were shaving cedar shingles there for Simon 


184 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


Dart. He has a market for them somewhere and ships them 
away. It’s a business he’s carried on for some years past.” 

” How did Ike and the Frenchman receive the boys?” 

” Very handsomely. They invited the whole crowd to take 
dinner with them in the camp, and really got up quite a spread. 
Old Ike is a pretty good cook when he lays himself out.” 

'■’Did the boys notice anything suspicious about the camp?” 

"Not a thing. Amos Dole was with them, and he said it 
looked just as it did when he luml)ered there, except that 
there wasn’t anything in it. He built the camj) and says 
there certainly wasn’t anything wrong about it today. Ike 
Wallace was terribly bitter against old Pete, and was sorely 
disappointed to learn that he was acquitted. He said he had 
not seen anything of the old villain while he had been work- 
ing at the camp, but that he would keep his eyes open and 
let the boys know if he noticed anything suspicious.” 

" Do you suppose he will ? ” 

"Oh, yes, I think so. He hates old Pete Atkins just as 
badly as any of us, and will do all he can to help run him, to 
earth.” 

"Well, I hope we may succeed in doing it,” said Raymond 
as he left the store. "It looks more like it than it ever has 
before,” he added. 

Instead of driving home at once, Raymond continued down 
the cross road back of Cobe Hersom’s shop, which stood on 
one of the four corners, and presently found himself in front 
of Simon Dart’s store. It was a plain, unpretentious, story 
and a half building. Originally it had been painted a light 
yellow with white trimmings. The ravages of time, however, 
had robbed it of most of its primitive color, which clung to it 
now only in isolated patches, giving it a peculiarly unkempt 


AN UNEXPECTED VEPtDICT. 


185 


and dingy appearance. The basement of the building, which 
was used for storage purposes, extended into the side of a 
steep embankment. It was from this, the older inhabitants 
said, that a great deal of earth had been taken when the cross 
road was continued beyond the Corner, and Simon’s father, 
with an eye to economy, had purchased it, thereby avoiding 
the expense of digging a cellar. The plan worked very well, 
excei)t as regarded the store front, where the sills stood over 
six feet above the level of the road. Here a deep platform 
was built, reached from the road by a flight of broad steps. 
Kaymond noticed that the space under this platform was used 
by Simon for storing em})ty boxes. It was very nearly filled 
with a miscellaneous collection of them. One end of the 
platform was l)oarded up, while the other had been left open 
to serve as a door. Near this Raymond observed a large, 
empty dry goods box resting upon its side with its open part 
next the store. "That’s almost big enough for a camp,” he 
soliloquized. Going upon the platform he saw that its floor- 
ing was laid in joist with open spaces between nearly an inch 
in width. Having noted these points he entered the store. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Benson. Beautiful day we’ve had,” 
said Simon, with an affable smirk, as he stood nervously rub- 
bing his hands behind the counter. " Is there anything I can 
do for you?” 

"I’ll have half a pound of that best black tea.” 

"Will that be all?” 

"Yes, all tonight.” 

In a short time the tea was done up, and Raymond was on 
his way home with it. "I believe I have found the key to 
old Pete Atkins’s operations,” he muttered, "and it will not 
be my fault if I do not unlock their mysteries.” 


186 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 

The following day Raymond was up bright and early, as 
was his custom, attending to his duties about the farm. 
Among these was the feeding of the hens. Although grand- 
father Benson was not a poultry enthusiast, or, as his neighbors 
would have expressed it, had never been afflicted with the 
”hen fever,” he could, nevertheless, show one of the finest 
flocks of fowls in Chestnut. The latest additions to his 
poultry yard were three beautiful white Leghorns, which had 
been presented to him by a friend in Bolton. They were of 
the purest blood and he felt no little pride in them. 

For many years Plymouth Rocks had held undisputed 
sway in the poultry yard at Benson Farm. Even when the 
place had gone out of the hands of the family, no change had 
been made in the character of the denizens of the hen-yard. 
The same type had been faithfully perpetuated. For flesh 
grandfather Benson stoutly maintained that no fowls could 
compare with them. He had formerly been equally strenuous 
regarding their egg-laying abilities, but the arguments of his 
Bolton friend had induced him half to believe that after all 
the Leghorns might excel in this respect. He was not pre- 
pared to concede this point, however, Avithout a fair test of 
the relative merits of the two breeds. The contest had been 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


187 


ill progress about a fortnight with the Leghorns somewhat in 
the lead. Still grandfather Benson was not ready to admit 
their superiority. He believed that the Plymouth Rocks had 
greater "staying abilities,” and that, given sufficient time, 
they would certainly prove themselves to be more profitable 
fowls than their smaller and better looking rivals. 

As Raymond entered the hen house with a peck measure 
well filled with cracked corn and mixed grain, he was startled 
by the sudden appearance of a long slim-backed little animal 
upon the girt joist just above the row of nests. 

" My gracious ! A weasel ! ” he exclaimed excitedly, throw- 
ing his measure of grain upon the floor and hastily seizing a 
small stick that leaned as^ainst one of the roosts. "I besfin to 
see why those Leghorns have been gaining so fast. This sly 
fellow has been disposing of the Plymouth Rock eggs. 
They’re larger, and he likes them better. Well, he ought to 
be a good judge, and will certainly be a strong witness for 
grandfather. 

AA'ith these reflections, Raymond aimed a swift blow at the 
weasel which had run along the girt to the corner of the build- 
ing. He felt sure that he was about to annihilate him, but, 
to his great surprise and chagrin, the little animal eluded his 
blow and doubling upon his course with lightning rapidity, 
ran along the girt in the opposite direction, leaped to the 
floor and disappeared through the door, leaving Raymond to 
look after him in open-mouthed amazement. 

"AVell, I never saw the beat of that,” he exclaimed, when 
he had recovered somewhat from his surprise. "I thought I 
had him sure wffien I got him into that corner. I don’t see 
for the life of me how he avoided that l)low. He was quicker 
than a flash. That’s the fellow who has been making away 


188 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


with the eggs in here, beyond a doubt ; but it’s very strange 
that we have never found any shells. Perhaps, though, the 
hens have disposed of them. It will never do in the world to 
have such a visitor here. He’ll eat up all the profits on the 
poultry. Let me see ; what can I do for him?” 

For a moment Raymond stood in a deep study ; then his 
face suddenly lighted up, as a plan for the weasel’s capture 
came to his mind. '*! have it !” he exclaimed. ”1’11 set one 
of those muskrat traps for him.” 

To plan was almost always to execute with Raymond, and 
in a short time the cruel little trap was carefully set upon the 
centre of the girt. 

''He will have to run along hereto reach the nests,” was 
Raymond’s reflection, "and when he does that he will be 
pretty sure to get into the trap. He’s quick, 1 know, but I’ll 
warrant he won’t be spry enough to get away from those jaws, 
if that spring has a chance to get in its work.” 

The thought of capturing the weasel elated Raymond not 
a little, and the next morning he was on hand at an early 
hour to look at his traj). Sure enough, it was sprung ; but 
it was not the weasel that was in it. Stiflf and cold upon the 
top of one of the nest boxes lay one of grandfather Benson’s 
much prized Leghorn hens. She had been caught by both 
legs, close to the body, and had fallen from the girt, in her 
frantic struggles to free herself, and pulled the trap after 
her. 

Raymond looked with amazed and doleful face upon the sad 
catastrophe that had followed his attempt at weasel trapping. 

"Well I declare,” he muttered, "1 never thought any of the 
hens would get up there. Such an idea never entered my head. 
What in the world will grandfather Benson say ? He thought 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


189 


an awful sight of those Leghorns. They were given him by 
General Dixon, and, besides, he was anxious to see whether 
they were better than Plymouth Rocks.” 

With this thought, Raymond took the dead hen from the 
trap, and carrying her out behind the stable proceeded to 
bury her. He found, however, that an unpleasant fact, even 
though the tangible evidence of it may be put out of sight, is 
not easily put out of mind. He was unable to keep from 
thinking of the unfortunate occurrence ; it worried him not a 
little. His conscience reproached him for undertaking to con- 
ceal the matter. 

"I’m acting the part of a coward, after having played tho 
role of a fool,” he muttered. "I deserve to be horsewhi[)ped 
for the bungling way I managed that trap. If it was any- 
body but grandfather Benson who owmed that hen, I’d be 
pretty apt to get a good thrashing. I won’t be a sneak, 
though. I’ll make a clean breast of the whole business.” 

Grandfather Benson was surprised, on coming into the 
stable a little later, to be met with the abrupt announcement, 
from Raymond, "I’ve killed one of your Leghorn hens.” 

"Indeed, how did that happen?” he inquired with surpris- 
ing carelessness. 

Raymond briefly related the harrowing result of his attempt 
to catch the weasel. He paused uneasily at the close of his 
recital, expecting some words of censure from his grand- 
father, but they did not come. Instead of that the good man 
burst into a hearty laugh. 

"AVell, I must say that’s a rather hard end for a trapping 
expedition,” he said with a merry twdnkle in his eye. 

"I donjt see anything to laugh at,” said Raymond 
soberly. 


190 


THE SMUGGLE ns OF CHESTXUT. 


"No douljt you don’t; but it’s just as well to laugh as to 
cry, isn’t it?” 

"Yes, but you’ve lost a nice Leghorn.” 

"Of course I’m sorry for that, but it couldn’t be helped. 
The idea of a hen getting into that trap no doul)t never 
entered your head. It was wholly an accident, though I think 
you must admit it was a somewhat ludicrous one.” 

"Yes, it was rather. I’ll allow,” said Raymond with a dole- 
ful smile. 

"There’s one thing I’m very proud of,” said grandfather 
Benson with a touch of deep tenderness in his voice. 

"What’s that?” 

"That 111}' boy had the courage and manliness to come and 
tell me the whole story.” 

"But I don’t deserve your praise at all. I started out to 
play the coward. When I first found that hen I took her out 
behind the stable and buried her ivitli the intention of not 
saying a word to you about it.” 

"But you did.”*^ 

"Yes, the more I thought about it, the meaner I felt. I 
made up my mind I never could look you in the face again as 
long as I lived, if I played the part of such a sneak.” 

"That was a noble victory, Raymond, after a hard strug- 
gle,” said grandfather Benson in a tone of tender sympathy. 
"It was a contest for supremacy between temptation, and 
your innate sense of right ; such battles determine the char- 
acter of every boy, according as he wins or loses. They 
mean a great deal in this life ; they decide whether a young 
man’s career is to be clean and open, with nothing to conceal 
and nothing to be ashamed of, or whether it is to be one fond 
of darkness and afraid of the light. I feel proud of your 


i 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


191 


victory, my boy. You do not always take the right course ; 
you are impulsive and sometimes headstrong; but when it 
comes down to a square, fair fight between manliness and mpan- 
ness — between right and wrong, — I have always believed 
my boy brave enough of soul to win the good victory.” 

''Thank you, grandfather,” said Eaymond gratefully. "I 
am glad that you have confidence in me, and I shall try to 
deserve it.” 

"No doubt of it, my boy,” said grandfather Benson kindly. 
" I have been especially pleased with the course you have 
taken this morning, because I w^as expecting it, and you have 
not disappointed me.” 

"You were expecting it?" said Eaymond in genuine sur- 
prise. 

"Yes, I felt it was coming. I visited the hen house ahead 
of you this morning on my way to the barn. I saw the hen 
in your trap and knew at once that you had been after a 
weasel ” 

" And you never said a word about it ? ” 

"No, I felt that you would tell me the wdiole story, and 
you see I wasn’t mistaken about it,” said grandfather Benson 
with an affectionate smile, " and now I wish you’d hitch the 
bay mare into the open buggy. I am going to the Corner, 
and it may be possible that I shall have to go to Bodge before 
I get back. If I shouldn’t be back by supper time I wish 
you’d help Dudley with the milking.” 

"All right,” responded Eaymond and a little later grand- 
father Benson was on his way to the Corner. 

"I am ever so glad I told him all,” refiected Eaymond, 
after he had gone. "How he would have despised me in his 
heart if I had been the coward I set out to be ; but what is 


192 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


more, how I should have despised myself! After all, I 
])elieve it is more important that a fellow should respect him- 
self than that other people should respect him, though I 
believe that the second will surely follow the first as a matter 
of course. After all, we live the greater part of this life on 
the inside, and it is important, as grandfather says, that we 
should keep the ai)artments there clean and wholesome. If 
we do that, we must, as he says, 'open the windows of the 
soul and let the sunlight in.’ ” 

The day passed slowly. Byer and Dud were engaged in 
building a split cedar fence about the piece of front field 
which had been broken up for the next year’s potato crop. 
Eaymond remained about the house to attend to the chores. 
After he had completed these he found the time hanging some- 
what heavily upon his hands. He went to his den, and, get- 
ting out his box of traps, gave them a thorough overhauling. 

"I will do some real trapping this winter,” he reflected, as 
he packed them away again. "The trouble in the hen house 
will be a lesson to me not to begin too early, and in the 
wrong place.” 

A rather sickly smile stole over Kaymond’s face at this 
reflection. 

"I was astonished to see how calmly grandfather took it. 
I never dreamed he knew anything about it — still, I don’t 
believe that made much diflerence with him. He never does 
things as other men do ; he’s got more heart than most of 
them have.” 

With this reflection Raymond took from a small book-case 
near the bureau, Jane Porter’s "Scottish Chiefs,” and was soon 
deeply absorbed in the daring exploits of Sir William Wal- 
lace, Robert Bruce and other Highland heroes. 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


193 


It was after dark when supper was over, and, milk pail in 
hand, Kaymond started to follow Dud to the barn. As he 
came into the yard he noticed the outline of a team standing 
before the closed door of the stable. 

"Halloo,” he thought. "Grandfather’s got back.” 

He was about to offer his assistance in putting up the horse 
when another team drove into the yard and grandfather Ben- 
son’s voice called out : 

"Whose team is this?” 

"I don’t know. I thought it was yours,” responded Ray- 
mond. 

" Where’s Dudley ? ” 

"He’s milking.” 

"Well, I wish you’d go into the house and get the other 
lantern. We’ll investigate this matter a little.” 

A few moments later Raymond returned from the kitchen 
with a lantern on his arm, and he and grandfather Benson 
walked along to the strange team. It was a side-bar buggy, 
drawn by a small black horse. 

"I know that team,” said Mr. Benson quietly. "It belongs 
to Charles Adams, the Bolton livery man. He bought that 
little horse of Dean Percy.” 

The top of the buggy to which the intelligent little animal 
was hitched was turned back, notwithstanding the sharp fall 
weather. Stretched out upon the seat, with his head resting 
upon one corner of it was a large, fine looking man. He- 
wore a valuable fur overcoat ; his head was bare, but a tall 
silk hat which lay in the bottom of the buggy showed what 
had covered it. 

"Is he asleep?” asked Raymond as he flashed the lantern 
into his face. 


1U4 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


”I should rather say he was in a drunken stupor,” responded 
orandfather Benson in tones of deep disgust. ^^It’s a sad 
sight to see a fine looking man like him in such a beastly 
condition,” he added soberly. 

"What shall we do with him?” 

" We shall have to take him into the house. It would 
never do to leave him here.” 

Together they carried the limp and insensible man into the 
spare bed room, where, after pulling off his boots, they laid 
him on the bed, spread a few quilts and blankets over him, and 
left him to sleep off the overpowering effects of his potations. 

"He won’t Avake up before morning,” said grandfather Ben- 
son as they returned to the stable to take care of the horses. 
" He furnishes the most forcible kind of a temperance lect- 
ure,” he added. 

"I hope you don’t believe me in need of the lesson it 
teaches,” said Raymond a little anxiously. 

"No indeed, my boy.” Avas the hearty rejoinder. "1 knoAv 
that you have your faults, but 1 have never had the slightest 
fear that you would be other than a temperate man. The 
desire for liquor does not run in the Benson family. For 
that reason, perhaps, AA^e are not deserving of so much credit 
for our total abstinence principles as the poor felloAvs aaIio 
keep their lives temperate only by constantly fighting into 
subjection an inherent appetite for strong drink. So far as I 
knoAV, the taste for liquor has never run in our family, nor 
do I think there are any of my immediate relatives who habit- 
ually use tobacco.” 

"ThefelloAv in the house probabh' came here from the den 
of Pete Atkins,” said Raymond. "It’s a fair sample of the 
Avork he is doing.” 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


195 


”I think very likely,” returned Mr. Benson, "that is, if he 
got his liquor here in Chestnut.” 

By this time the horses were put up and Kaymond hurried 
to the barn to help Dud Avith the milking, but the big fellow 
had nearly finished the w^ork. A little later he and Raymond 
returned to the house AAuth brimming milk pails, and shortly 
after, when the evening prayers Avere over, retired for the 
night. 

The following morning, while grandfather Benson and the 
boys sat around the kitchen table, busily engaged in dispos- 
ing of the hot buckAvheat flapjacks which Mrs. Benson was 
frying on the large griddle over the stove, the stranger made 
his appearance. He had slept off his drunken stupor, and a 
careful toilet had made a vast change in his appearance. He 
looked decidedly sheepish and beAAuldered as he surveyed the 
group about the table, and realized that he had been the recip- 
ient of private hospitality — not to say charity. He paused 
in the doorAvay of the sitting room as if undetermined Iioav 
to act, but grandfather Benson quickly relieved him of his 
embarrassment. 

"Good morning,” he said, pleasantly, as he motioned the 
traveler to a chair beside him. "How did you rest?” 

"Very nicely, thank you,” was the response. The ice thus 
cordially broken the stranger appeared to recover somewhat 
fi-om his reserve and chatted pleasantly with the group about 
the table. 

"What direction is Bolton from here?” he finally inquired. 

"Where should you say?” Avas grandfather Benson’s Yan- 
kee ansAA^er. 

"In that direction,” pointing toAvards the Corner. 

"You are exactly turned around.” 


196 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"And Bolton is in the opposite direction?” 

"Yes.” 

"Well, I never should have thought it. The fact is, I 
wasn’t just myself last night — a little mixed, I guess — my 
own fault — must have made a fool of myself, I know — 
talked like an insane man, didn’t I?” 

"No, yqu were not in a condition to say anything.” 

A look of intense relief came over the stranger’s face. 

"I can appreciate your kindness to me, sir, and I think I 
can assure you that the lesson this disgraceful experience has 
taught me will not be without good results.” 

" I certainly hope so,” returned grandfather Benson, and no 
further reference was made to the stranger’s state on the pre- 
vious night. 

"Is that gentleman your father?” asked the mysterious 
visitor of Kaymond, as grandfather Benson turned away to 
assist Dud in harnessing his horse.” 

"No, my grandfather.” 

"And his name is Benson, isn’t it?” 

"Yes, how did you know?” 

"I inferred as much from that,” said the stranger, pointing 
to the charred ruins of the barn. I read all about the trial 
in the newspapers, and if I am not mistaken, you are the 
young man who figured so prominently in it.” 

"Yes,” said Raymond, with a flushed face, "I am the one. 
I suppose you gathered from what you read that I was the 
real villain in the case. The county attorney tried hard enough 
to make it appear that way.” 

"On the contrary,” said the stranger, with an amused 
expression on his face, "I concluded that you were a pretty 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


1!)7 

decent kind of a fellow. That was your first experience 
in a court trial I take it.” 

"Yes, and I hope it will be the last.” 

" Y ell, I hope so, too ; but a small part of the experience 
I have had in such trials would teach you not to mind what an 
opposing counsel said of you. If he should berate you with 
special vigor you would esteem it a high compliment. 

"Are you a lawyer?” 

"Not exactly,” was the evasive response. "I’m a sort of 
lawyer’s devil. I drum up business for the profession. You 
never had any doubt but Atkins burned that barn did you ?” 

"Not the slightest.” 

"AYell, neither did I. The verdict was a surprise to me, 
and I guess it was to everybody who followed the case.. 
There is no doubt but what Atkins is eno^ajjed in smufffrlino: 
liquor across the line, is there?” 

"Well, that seems to be the general opinion.” 

" They’ve offered a reward of a hundred dollars that is really 
aimed at him, haven’t they?” 

"Yes.” 

"Why don’t you win it?” 

"Me?” 

"Yes, you. I believe you can do it. I am indebted to you 
and your people here for the hospitable manner in which 
you have used me. I assure you I am not insensible of your 
kindness. As a proof of this I am going to give you a tip 
that will be worth something to you. It is this : AVatch 
Dart’s store. If you do this at the proper time you may 
learn something that will be worth a hundred dollars to you. 
I think you are shrewd enough to grasp the point.” 


198 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"I think so,” said Kaymond dou])tful]y ; but if that tip^ is 
worth so much why don't you get the money yourself?” 

"Circumstances render it impossible, but believe me, my 
boy, I have spoken to you in good faith. I should certainly 
be lacking in all sense of gratitude were I to do otherwise. 
You may act as you see fit, but time will surely show you 
the importance of what I have said to you.” 

By this time the stranger’s horse was harnessed, and as he 
was about to resume his drive towards Bolton, he urged Mr. 
Benson to accept pay for his lodging and breakfast. 

"I couldn’t think of it,” was the firm response. "I have 
never put a price upon the hospitalities of my house, and it’s 
too late for me to begin now. You know it’s hard for an old 
dog to learn new tricks,” he added with a smile. 

"But I was an utter stranger to you, with absolutely no 
claim upon you for your entertainment. I don’t think it pos- 
sible to repay your kindness to me with money, but I should 
really feel better, though none the less indebted to you, if 
you would let me reimburse you at least for the actual trouble 
and expense I have been to you.” 

"I can’t break my rule,” said Mr. Benson, "but if this 
experience is a benefit to your future I shall feel fully repaid.” 

" It certainly shall be,” said the stranger as he climbed into 
the buggy and with a pleasant " good-bye” drove away in the 
direction of Bolton. 

"Who do you suppose he was?” asked Raymond, when 
their involuntary guest was out of hearing. 

"I haven’t the slightest idea. I do not remember of ever 
having seen him before. He was evidently, though, an edu- 
cated, intelligent man, and a close observer both of men and 
affairs. He appeared to know pretty much all about this 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


199 


county and its leading citizens, and was much interested in 
our development. He believed with me that no other section 
of New England has such magnificent resources, especially 
from an agricultural point of view. He thought it was a 
shame that we should be forced to carry our products to mar- 
ket over Canadian soil, and declared that a direct line of 
railroad through State of Maine territory, connecting Aroos- 
took County with the city of Bangor, would be a great bless- 
ing to us all, and would insure a great future for this section.” 

"Do you believe that?” 

"Most certainly, and so does every Aroostook citizen who 
has the interests of the county at heart. ” 

"But do you suppose it will ever come?” 

"I surely do, and when it does we shall see a growth and 
development right here in Aroostook County that will fairly 
rival that of the most thriving and enterprising sections of 
the AVest. That will be a great day for Aroostook, my boy. 
The products of our farms and forests will then find an easy 
outlet to the markets of the country. But that will not be 
all. We have some s})lendid w^ater powers in the county 
that will certainly be utilized for manufacturing purposes. 
Our golden era is surely coming, Raymond, though perhaps 
we may not get the full dawn of it in my day.” 

"I didn’t know you had contributed tow^ards a reward for 
the capture of smugglers in this towm,” said Raymond very 
abruptly, changing the subject. He never w^anted to enter- 
tain for a moment the sad thought that he should ever be 
wdthoiit a grandfather Benson. 

thought it advisable to do something of the kind,” was 
the response. "I am convinced that the first step tow'ards 
putting down the liquor traffic here in Chestnut wdll be to 


200 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


prevent the stuff from being smuggled across the line. That 
is the proper way to start a genuine, practical temperance 
reform movement in this town. Another advantage in so 
doing is that we enlist at the start the Federal officials, and 
they are never afraid to do their. full duty in such cases. 
Local influences and fears do not affect them.” 

"Do you mean to say that local officers won’t do their duty ?” 

"I mean to say just this : under our system of popular gOA'- 
ernment, officials will not be much in advance of the public 
sentiment that creates them. It’s Avell enough to lay doAvU a 
theoretical standard for official virtue. Most reformers are 
fond of doing that. This very fact accounts for the greater 
part of their failures. They should establish those standards 
for popular sentiment, and when it comes uj) to them, officials 
will not be found one whit behind. The truth of the matter 
is that officials are seldom little better or little worse than their 
constituents. Especially is this the case in small localities, 
Avhere the disaffection of a fcAV men may be sufficient to secure 
their defeat at the next election. Under such circumstances 
they will be A^ery careful to aA^oid, as far as possible, anything 
and eA^erything that savors of aggressiveness.” 

"Do you think, then, that public sentiment is on the AAU’ong 
side of great moral questions?” 

"Not at all. I think the great popular heart is always for 
Avhat it believes to be right, though nations, as AAell as indi- 
viduals, have often been Avoefully Avrong. I have no doul)t 
that the great majority of the people of this county believe 
in temperance. In Maine I knoAv the sentiment is over- 
whelmingly in its favor ; but there are doubtless, even in our 
OAvn State, many localities Avhere the rum element is able to 
a large extent to control matters and more or less to direct 


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


201 


public sentiment, through the cry of ^personal liberty’ and 
other equally fallacious doctrines. Officials elected in such 
places are not liable to be specially enthusiastic in suppress- 
ing the liquor traffic.” 

"But you don’t think Chestnut is such a place, do 
you ? ” 

"No, not exactly. The great majority of our people are at 
heart in favor of temperance ; but they have not been Avilling 
to stand up boldly and light for it. Those who oppose the 
l)rohibitory law, on the other hand, have been active and 
aggressive and have long been able to exert an undue influ- 
ence in town affairs.” 

"People have been afraid of Pete Atkins, haven’t they?” 

" Yes, very many have not cared to incur his vindictive 
enmity, even when they have deeply deplored the evil he is 
doing.” 

"AVhat cowardly selfishness ! ” 

"People are very apt, my boy, to put the burden of public 
reforms upon other shoulders than their own. They believe 
in reform, but wish somebody else to do the reforming. In 
other words they are not willing to make any personal sacri- 
fices for it. It is a good deal easier for them to condemn the 
officials for not doing their duty than it is to take hold and 
help them do it. A man can’t do his whole duty to society 
by simply voting for what he believes to be right ; the respon- 
sibilities of citizenship do not close with the polls. Officials, 
the best of them, are only human, and it is not to be wondered 
at if they are not very earnest in pushing a battle against 
active and aggressive opponents, when they find themselves 
without active and aggressive support. There are two kinds 
of influence in this world ; one is positive, the other is nega- 


202 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


tive. We’ve had altogether too much of the latter here in 
Chestnut.” 

"Why will the Federal officers be above such influences?” 

"Because local considerations have no bearing whatever 
upon their tenure of office. It would not make any difierence 
to the Custom House officials at Bolton what party succeeded in 
carrying the town . F or this reason , and from the fact that they 
have the strong arm of the o’eneral eoverment behind them, 
they are always ready to do their full duty in these matters and 
do it fearlessly. I believe it was a wise move for us to hitch 
them on as we did. The best citizens of Chestnut are becom- 
ing aroused as never before, to a determination that liquor 
selling shall be stopi)ed in this town.” 

" Do you think they will be successful in topping it ? ” 

"I haven’t the slightest doubt of it,” was the smiling 
response, and Baymond went about his morning work with a 
conviction that his srandfaBior knew Avhat he was talkino- 
about. 

The remarks of the mysterious visitor had made a deep 
impression upon Raymond, and through all the work of the 
day, he was busily engaged in turning them over in his mind. 
He was convinced that the stranger knew more about Pete 
Atkins and his gang than he was willing to tell. On the 
other hand, if he had spoken sincerely, he had said enough 
to show that he entertained no friendly feelings toward them. 
The value of his "tip” was yet to be determined, but Ray- 
mond fully made up his mind that it would not be his fault if 
it was not ascertained in the near future. 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


203 


cnAPTp:R XIV. 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 

'"You and I will have that reward, Xed.” 

It Avas Raymond Benson Avho si)oke, and his Avords had a 
very electrifying eflect upon Xed Grover, Avhom he had taken 
to his den for a conhdential chat. 

"You are not in earnest, are you?” he asked eagerly. 

"I Avas never more so in my life, XYd. I feel morally cer- 
tain that if you and I go about this thing in the right Avay, 
Av^e shall get that hundred dollars.” 

” You don’t really mean that Ave shall be able to secure the 
arrest and conA'iction of old Pete Atkins, do you?” 

"That is just exactly Avhat I mean.” 

"I don’t see hoAv.” 

"Well, I’ll tell you how. I have been putting this and 
that together, and I think I am lieginning to get at the inside 
of this thing. It is very evident that if old Pete is carry- 
ing on much of a smuggling lousiness, or bringing anything 
across the line except the liquor he sells at his house, he must 
have a market for his Avares. In other Avords, there must be 
some confederate on the Yankee side to take his goods and 
dispose of them. I am convinced that old Pete has such an 
ally, and I belicA'e that I have discoA^ered him.” 

" Who is he?” 


204 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


" Simon Dart.” 

"Simon Dart!” exclaimed Ned in astonishment. "You 
must surely be mistaken, old fellow. He carries on his busi- 
ness altogether too openly to be engaged in that kind of work. 
I don’t have a very high opinion of the fellow. In fact, I 
know he’s a knave ; but I think we must concede that he is 
no fool. Besides, with his father’s fate before him, it isn’t 
very likely that he would care to follow in his footsteps.” 

" That’s just what he is doing, though, in my opinion. His 
very openness has disarmed suspicion. He is a thoroughbred 
scoundrel, depend upon it, Ned. It always makes me crawl 
when I go near him. There is something clammy about 
him.” 

"He is certainly an uncanny fellow,” said Ned. "But I do 
not see what valid reason you have for suspecting him of being 
the receiver of old Pete’s smuggled goods.” 

"There are a number of reasons, old fellow. In the first 
place, a good many more things go out of his store than ever 
come from Bolton. It seems strange to me now that the 
people of this town have not noticed it.” 

"If he keeps smuggled goods in stock, wouldn’t it be an 
easy thing for the Custom House officers to search his store 
and establish the fact ? ” 

"Perhaps so, but you see they have never suspected him. 
The fellow is shrewd and has played his part well. He must 
have, to throw the dust so completely in the eyes of the people 
of this town.” 

"Why don’t you tell the officers of your suspicions and 
have them search his store ? ” 

"And lose that reward? Not much, my boy. Besides, 
there is one thing I want, too, a good deal more than the hun- 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


205 


clrod dollars, and that is the arrest and conviction of old Pete 
Atkins. I’d give all I jiossess to he able to rid the town of 
that old reprobate. If the officers should descend on Dart, 
Pete would take to the woods and hide there till the storm 
blew over. In the meantime he would contrive to keep his 
wife and hoys supplied with liquor, and they would continue 
the business just the same. No, my idea is to commence at 
the other side of this matter when we begin to draw in our 
nets. The first fish Ave want is old Pete. When Ave once get 
him in the meshes, it will not be so much trouble to secure 
Dart.” 

"You are right there,” said Ned, "but you have only given 
me reason for believing that Dart is a confederate of old 
Pete’s, and that is by no means a conclusive one. I think 
your experience with the court has shoAvn you that it aa ouldn’t 
have much weight there.” 

"Well, Dart has ahvays said a good word for old Pete at 
every opportunity, and is alAA^ays endeavoring to excuse his 
knavery by saying that he is a generous and obliging neigh- 
bor. During the recent trial he Avas the old fellow’s right 
hand man. He secured his lawyers and found all the Avit- 
nesses for him. In my ojhnion he put up that alibi that 
finally cleared the old fellow. He had a long talk Avith 
Gambler before the trial, Avhich I think had a great deal to 
do Avith the man’s obstinate refusal to tell who Av^as Avith him 
the night of the fire.” 

"I didn’t knoAv that.” 

"Few people did, but it’s a fact, all the same. I’ll tell you 
another thing. I believe that Amos Dole’s old camp is the 
headquarters for Pete and his gang, and that Ike Wallace and 
the Frenchman Avith him are members of it. Their shaving 


206 


THE SMUGGLEKS OF CHESTNUT. 


shingles is only a blind, as is also their cordial treatment of 
visitors to the camp. It is doubtless true that they are work- 
ing for Dart, but not at shingle making. He and old Pete 
Atkins are partners in quite a different business ; and you 
and I will prove it before many days.” 

” But the party from the Corner took dinner at the camp 
and didn’t see anything about it the least suspicious.” 

" There may have been no smuggled goods on hand at that 
time. If there were, you may depend upon it they were not 
far from that camp.” 

"What is your plan, Raymond? I’m with you through 
thick and thin, in anything you may do to trap old Pete. No 
one can be more anxious than I am to rid the town of him.” 

"My idea is this, Ned. Those fellows must land their 
stufl‘ at Dart’s store in the early morning hours. It would 
be hard to imagine a building better adapted for such work. 
It is back of the Corner, and shut off from it by the little 
hill. There is not another building an^^where around it, 
except the church. You see, Simon owns the land on each 
side of the road, with the exception of the church lot and 
grave-yard, clear down to the Bell woods, and it’s fully half 
a mile through those. My idea is that the smuggled goods 
are Iwought in a team from Letter K to the point where those 
woods, which run in a quartering direction, make out on the 
county road, more than a mile above the Corner. Here they 
are unloaded and carried through the woods to the cross road 
about a quarter of a mile or so below the church yard. They 
are then loaded onto another team and carried to Dart’s store 
about two or three o’clock in the morning, when every- 
body about the Corner is asleep. Now my idea is for you 
and me to be at Dart’s store and see a load of these jroods 


RAYMOND AND NED LO DETECTIVE MORK. 


207 


delivered. That would give us testimony enough at the start 
to convict both Simon and Pete.” 

” That’s an ingenious scheme, certainly,” said Ned, "but I 
don’t believe Simon will be accommodating enough to furnish 
us quarters for that purpose.” 

"You don’t understand me. I said at the store, not in it. 
jVIy idea is for 3^011 and me to camp in a big diy goods box 
there is under the store platform and await developments.” 

"But we’d freeze to death,” objected Ned, shivering at the 
thought. "Here it is the last of November.” 

"We should want to go protected from the cold. Each of us 
will want an extra pair of warm woolen stockings, and a buffalo 
overcoat outside of our regular one. In addition to that we 
ought to have a couple of thick robes. With such an outfit 
we need have no fear of the cold.” 

"Yes, we should be all right on that score,” said Ned. 
"But how can we be sure what night the^^ will bring goods 
there ? We might watch there a whole week and not discover 
anything.” 

"I have thought of that,” said Ra3"mond, "but I don’t see 
any way to avoid it. Vs^e must take our chances, and watch 
until they do come. I have an idea, however, that they select 
the darkest nights for these, trips. It would be well, anyway", 
for us to make a beginning on such a one.” 

A few da^^s later the boys drove to the Corner about mid- 
night and put their team in one of the sheds back of the 
church, carefully blanketing the horse for protection against 
the cold. The night was pitchy black, but a dark lantern 
assisted them in finding their way. They had concluded, after 
some discussion, to take one along with them, deciding that, 
as Simon would probablj^ be in bed, they yould run less risk 


208 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


of discovery from its light than they otherwise would from 
the noise they might make in stumbling over the boxes. The 
event showed this conclusion to be correct. With the assist- 
ance of the lantern the boys were enabled to reach the box 
without disturbing in the least the silence of the night. They 
found it somewhat more cramped than they had anticipated, 
but it was nicely sheltered from the wind, and warmer than 
they had dared to hope. They soon had their robes spread, 
and were comfortably settled for the night. At first they 
thought of taking turns w^atching, but finally decided that 
both should remain awake. "It will be so much more cheer- 
ful,” said Eaymond, "if we keep each other company. Besides, 
we can sleep all day in my den if w-e want to. I will tell 
grandmother not to w^ake us. I tell you, old fellow,” he 
added, enthusiastically, "We are on the right track, and if we 
only hang to it long enough we will certainly win. I think 
we had better plan to be together as much as possible while we 
are working on this matter.” 

"Yes, that’s a good idea,” assented Ned, "but my soul! 
isn’t this just a trifle lonesome, though? Hear that wind 
moaning up in the graveyard. How dismal it sounds. I 
remember that old aunt Ruth who used to live on the other side 
of the graveyard, always said that the spirits of the dead were 
talking when the wdnd blew like that.” 

"Aunt Ruth who?” asked Raymond, "I never knew that 
there Avas a house beloAV the cemetery.” 

"Yes, that old story and a half stable of Simon’s l)ehind 
the store here was the one.” 

"I ahvays thought that it never could have been intended 
for a stable.” 

"Well, it Avasn’t. Uncle Jerry Hope, aaJio cleared up the 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


209 


fields below the graveyard, built it when he was a young man. 

That was nearly eighty years ago. His wife, aunt Ruth 
Hope, survived him ten years, and it’s nearly that since 
she died. Poor old lady ! I used to pity her. When uncle 
Jerry died, she supposed that all he owed was a few hundred 
dollars to Simon Dart. That would have left his widow 
enough to have kept her in comfort the rest of her days. 
When Simon produced his notes, however, they amounted to 
three thousand dollars, one for twelve hundred and the other 
for eighteen hundred. Of course it was a terrible blow to 
aunt Ruth. Uncle Jerry was a man who had never let her 
know much about his business affairs, but she never had an 
idea but what he had property enough to pay what he owed 
and leave a snug little balance.” 

"Don’t you suppose those notes were forgeries?” asked 
Raymond, who had been intensely interested in this nar- 
rative. 

"No, aunt Ruth knew that uncle Jerry had borrowed 
something from Simon, though she had never dreamed it was 
so much, and was unable for the life of her to think where the 
money had gone to. Besides, no man could possibly have 
imitated uncle Jerry’s signature. I don't believe that there 
was another one in the world anything like it.” 

"How long had these notes been running?” 

"Oh, ten or fifteen years.” 

"Didn’t Mr. Hope pay anything at all on them during that 
time ? ” 

"No. Aunt Ruth said he wanted to take them up once or 
twice, for she remembered to have heard him speak of it, but 
Simon said he was in no hurry whatever for the money and 
advised him to put what he had into improvements on thej 


210 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


farm. Uncle Jerry followed his advice and bought the large 
mowing field opposite the church, and also a good slice of the 
Bell woods. He had great hiith in Simon wUo at that time was 
a deacon in the church and one of its pillars.” 

”Yes, that’s Simon,” said Raymond. ”I believe that he 
has served the devil in the livery of heaven for a good many 
years. Do you know, from just what little you have told 
me, I am convinced that the figures on those notes were 
raised. Simon probably wrote them himself and imposed 
upon the confiding old man by putting the amounts in figures 
instead of writing them out in words. Who witnessed 
them?” 

"Simon’s mother.” 

"That’s it exactly. She became dead in a legal sense when 
she was taken to the insane asylum, and Simon had uncle 
Jerry in his power.” 

"What do you think he did?” asked Ned ivith evident 
interest. 

"I think he added a cipher to the figures of both those 
notes, thus increasing the amount of each a thousand dollars. 
I have no doubt but that, when uncle Jerry signed them, one 
was for a hundred and twenty and the other for a hundred and 
eighty dollars.” 

"My gracious ! I believe you are right !” exclaimed Ned 
excitedly. 

"I have no doubt of it,” said Raymond. "AYhat surprises 
me is to think that none of the townspeople ever thought of it.” 

"They doubtless wnuld if they had entertained the same 
opinion of Simon Dart that you do, but they didn’t. They 
looked upon him at that time as a paragon of virtue and 
piety. They are better acquainted with him now.” 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


211 


"Isn’t it strange that people will be so blind?” 

"After Simon took the farm, everybody was praising him 
for his generous treatment of aunt Ruth. He allowed her 
the rent of the house free as long as she lived, and gave her 
a great many things from the store.” 

"He probably had a sneaking feeling that he ought to allow 
her at least the interest on what belonged to her,” said Ray- 
mond, indignantly. 

"Very likely. The neighbors always kept her supplied 
with wood and were continually carrying things to her, so 
that with the knitting she did she managed to get along very 
comfortably. But she was a queer old soul. As she grew 
older she partially lost her mind, and had all sorts of strange 
notions. When the wind blew she used to say it was the 
spirits of the dead in the graveyard, warning sinners to 
repentance, and was positive she could distinguish the voice 
of uncle Jerry above all the others. I remember visiting her 
with mother when 1 was a little fellow and hearing her talk 
like that. It made the goose flesh stand out all over me. I 
dreamed of ghosts and goblins that night. I was very care- 
ful not to visit her again. There was something weird to 
me about her, and I always had an uneasy feeling that she only 
half belonged to this world anyway.” 

"Poor soul ! Very likely she didn’t,” said Raymond, sym- 
pathizingly. 

"Simon’s treatment of uncle Jerry didn’t look just right, 
but nobody was able to put a finger upon anything that was 
wrong. You see he is a shrewd fellow and always covered 
his tracks. A few years ago Charles Amsden, an old sol- 
dier, gave him some pension money to keep for him. When 
he came after it Simon insisted that he had paid it back to 


212 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


him two months before that. Amsden knew better than that, 
and brousfht suit a2:ainst Simon to recover the amount which 
Dart very frankly admitted had been given into his keeping. 
Considerable sympathy was awakened in town for Amsden, 
and the opinion was very generally expressed that Dart had 
swindled him. When the case came to trial, though, Simon 
exhibited to the court a receipt for the full amount signed by 
Amsden himself. Everybody was dumbfounded. Amsden 
stoutly maintained that he had never signed any such a receipt, 
but his signature was shown to be genuine. The body of 
the receipt Simon admitted was in his own handwriting. He 
had made it out and got Amsden to sign it, he said, simply as 
a matter of business, and to protect himself from any future 
demand that might be made upon him. 

"Well, that was proper, if he paid the money.” 

"That’s the point. Lots of people in this town don’t 
believe he ever did pay it.” 

"How did he come by the receipt then?” 

" Easily enough ; by looking ahead a little. You see he 
never goes into anything of that kind without carefully con- 
sidering how he’s going to get out of it if occassion requires. 
If he hadn’t followed that plan he would probably have been 
detected in some of his sharp dealings long before this. 
Nobody was ever known to get the best of him on anything ; 
and the number of men he’s shaved in this town would be 
hard to find out. Some of them never wanted to make much 
talk about it. Most men don’t care to have it known that 
they have been outwitted in business transactions, especially 
when the fellow who has duped them has been sharp enough to 
keep out of reach of the law. When Simon took Amsden’s 
money he meant to cheat him out of it. Charles was an 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


213 


ignorant fellow, and when Simon told him that it would be 
necessary to sign a paper certifying that he had made Dart 
the keeper of his money the poor fellow believed it was all 
right. Simon wrote out such a statement on a long sheet of 
paper and Amsden signed it near the bottom of the page. 
When he had gone Simon cut the agreement off the top, 
wrote a receipt for the money over the signature and put it 
away in his safe to protect him in his knavery when Amsden 
should demand his money.” 

"But, of course Amsden stated these facts to the court.” 

"Yes, but he had no proof of them.” 

"Of course not ; nothing but his word.” 

'* Jt was shown that he had been seen with Dart on the day 
his money was alleged to have been paid back to him, and 
that he had been drinking quite heavily. The jiresumption 
was, you see, that he had gone on a spree with his money 
and lost it or blown it in.” 

"Yes, I see. The fact that he Avas an intemperate man 
Avent against him.” 

"It certainly did, though I don’t see AAdiat case he would 
have had against Dart under any circumstances.” 

"I should have thought the church Avould have been anxious 
to get rid of Simon.” 

"Well, it AA’as, but he aa^s shrcAvd enough to save them 
any trouble in the matter by AAuthdraAving. You knoAv that 
lot back of the store ? ” 

" The one Avhere the stable stands ? ” 

"Yes, AA^ell Simon SAAundled that out of old Jason Dolliver, 
Avhose land joined his. There was no record of the line 
between the lots, but it Avas generally understood to run very 
close to the back end of the store. eJason had always assumed 


214 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


that such was the case, and Simon’s father never disputed it ; 
neither did Simon either for that matter, until he began to think 
would use uncle Jerry’s house for a stable, when it finally 
came into his possession. Then he saw that he would need 
some land to put it on. There is no doubt but what Mr. 
Dolliver would have sold him whatever he needed at a reas- 
onable price. That wasn’t Simon’s way of doing business, 
however. He never bought anything he could secure in any 
other way. Uncle Jerry Hope was the only man at the Cor- 
ner who would have been an authority on that line ; but his 
memory was failing, and he couldn’t recollect anything 
about it. Simon reminded him however that he helped make 
the survey, and that he would surely remember, if he 
thought the matter over, that the granite boulder sixty feet in 
the rear of the store came right in the middle of the line. 
For more than a year he would drop in and refresh uncle 
Jerry’s memory on this point until the old gentleman really 
believed that he had helped run the line and remembered just 
where it was. When the 'matter finally came before the courts 
uncle J erry’s testimony was so positive that it won the case for 
Simon and he secured the lot.” 

"Well, I declare ! He’s a deeper scoundrel than I sus- 
pected ; but how did you come to know about this ? 

’'Aunt Kuth told father how Simon and uncle Jerry used 
to talk the matter over. The dear old lady never suspected 
there was anything wrong ; but it didn’t take father long to 
see through the hole in the grindstone. However Simon 
was in possession of the land and he holds it to this day.” 

"Do you know, Ned, what you told me only makes me 
the more anxious to get that scoundrel upstairs in limbo?” 

"Tm with you there,” responded Ned ; and then the boys 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


215 


lay for a long time in silence, each busy with his own 
thoughts. The night Avore aAvay sloAvly. It seemed to them 
that they had never before realized Avhat an immense amount 
of time there Avas in sixty minutes, They felt cramped and 
still AAdien they finally left their box at about four o’clock in 
the morning, having reluctantly arrived at the conclusion that 
no smuggled goods would be delivered at Simon’s store after 
that hour. 

"I am just as anxious as any one to rid the toAvn of old 
Pete Atkins,” said Aed disgustedly as they drove home, "but 
I don’t hanker after A^ery much sport of this sort.” 

"Oh, AA^ell,” responded Kaymond encouragingly, "avc can’t 
expect to accomplish everything in a minute. If Ave suc- 
ceed in breaking up old Pete’s gang, aa^c have got to shoAV 
some perseverance and overcome some obstacles. Just 
think.” he added enthusiastically, "Avhat a feather it AA^ould be 
our caps to rid the toAvn of that old scoundrel, and get the 
hundred dollars reward. All avc’a^c got to do is to shoAv a 
little pluck and persistency, and aa^c are sure to aaoii the 
prize.” 

Ned’s drooping spirits AA^ere revived by this encouraging 
talk and the next evening he Avas ready and anxious to AA^atch 
again. But they AAcre once more doomed to disapi)ointment. 
The night wore slowly away Avithout a sign of old Pete or 
any one else. When the boys drove home in the morning 
their courage Avas at Ioav ebb and Ned Avas earnestly in favor 
of abandoning this part of the program. Raymond AA-as unAvill- 
ing to do this, however, and after considerable argument 
persuaded his companion to watch with him one more night, 
agreeing not to ask him to go again in case their vigils should 
continue to prove fruitless. He mentally determined, Iioaa"- 


210 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


ever, to keep up the watch alone. But this time their patience 
was rewarded. About two o’clock in the morning a heavy 
wagon drove up before Dart’s store and the driver, alighting, 
pounded upon the window of Simon’s room over the store 
with a long bamboo fish pole, which he drew from under the 
benches on the platform. A moment later the window was 
raised, and a voice which the boys readily recognized as 
Simon’s inquired cautiously, "Is that you, Pete?” 

"Yes,” responded the familiar tones of the. Chestnut rum- 
seller. "Come down and help me unload.” 

The window closed, and in a few moments the boys, who 
were breathless with suppressed excitement, heard the front 
door open and Simon step out upon the platform. 

"You are early,” he said. "I didn’t expect you before 
three.” 

"Well, I got a prompt start from the camp and thought I 
had better poke right through.” 

" Is this all there is ? ” 

"No, there’s another load in the scoop.” 

"Hear that. The scoop,’” whispered Raymond to Ned. 

"I felt sure they had a hiding place somewhere. It’s a dug- 
out and not very far from the camp.” 

"Sh-h,” said Ned, warningly. 

"How much have you got on?” asked Simon. 

"Not a heavy load,” answered Pete, "and it’s all in this big 
box. It’s going to be quite a lift for us to get it down cel- 
lar, but I guess we can do it. Lend a hand.” 

"I should think they had a piano by the way they grunt,” 
whispered Ned, as the two men bore their burden into the 
store. 

Raymond made no reply to this. As soon as the door 






“ You AND I WILL HAVE TO DISSOLVE PARTNERSHIP ” (Page 217) 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


217 


closed behind Pete and his companion, he threw open the 
slide of the dark lantern and stole silently from the box, 
whispering to Ned to remain where he was. In a moment 
more he Returned to the box, bringing a whip in his hand. 

"This will prove an important witness for us later on, old 
boy,” he said as he handed it to Ned. 

"I should say as much,” was the enthusiastic response. 
"Eaymond, you are the longest headed fellow I ever knew.” 

The whip was a whalebone. Just above the handle was a 
band of German silver upon which was engraved the name 
"P. Atkins.” 

Raymond had barely regained his place in the box before 
Simon and Pete came out upon the platform again in very 
earnest conversation. 

“It’s no use, Sime, I’m afraid you and I will have to dis- 
solve partnership. This vicinity is getting too hot for me. 
Everybody is after me now, since the Custom House officers 
put up that reward. I think I’ve shown you, on more than 
one occasion, that I’m no coward, but I tell you I haven’t 
any desire to spend ten or fifteen years in prison, not if I 
know myself. I’d a good deal rather play the respectable 
citizen and settle down to farming, though the profits would 
seem mighty small in comparison. But I’ve laid up some- 
thing in these years of prosperity, and the income of it would 
help out a good deal. I shouldn’t have to do my farming 
alone by any means.” 

"Bah,” said Simon impatiently. "I never thought to see 
you so weak kneed. That trial seems to have taken all the 
courage out of you. Brace up, man.” 

"I tell you Sime, that was a closer shave than I like. If 
it hadn’t been for the alibi you trumped up, I should have 


218 


THE S3IUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


been in Thomaston now, with no immediate prospect of leav- 
ing there. I thought sure I was gone when that boy was 
testifying. Curse him ! I’ve got an account to settle with 
him. He’s been the cause of all this trouble. Everything 
w^ould have been all right if he hadn’t crossed my path. 

"You brought the whole thing on yourself by your own 
idiotic folly,” said Dart coldly. "How many times have I 
advised you never to sacrifice business interests to personal 
feelings. What did the life of that dog amount to? What 
would the lives of a hundred dogs amount to, compared 
to the success of our ventures? I would give five hundred of 
the best dogs this town ever saw if we could be back on as 
good footing as we were when you burned Benson’s barn.” 

"Well, I don’t intend to be run over by any one,” said 
Pete, sullenly. 

"Run over. Bah! You haven't the balance of self-con- 
trol of a sensible louse. This isn’t the first time that you've 
come near upsetting everything by your rattle-brained malice. 
Then there was that Bangor detective you bought up last 
week. .You were lucky enough to get a twist on him and 
choke him off, but you showed very poor judgment in filling 
him up with whiskey. There was no need of that, and it 
came very near making us lots of trouble. The fellow got 
beastly drunk and brought up in an insensible condition in 
Andrew Benson’s dooryard. They kept him over night there. 
I heard Dud Rich telling somebody about it here in the store 
yesterday. I never had anything startle me so. I thought 
you had better judgment than to act like that. It’s a wonder 
the fellow didn’t get to talking and give the whole thing 
away. He would, I guess, if his tongue hadn’t been too 
thick to wag. I tell you, Pete, such carelessness as that will 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


219 


certainly ruin us. You must be more cautious, and above all 
control you temper. I can hate as strongly as any man, ])ut 
I don’t sacrifice my business interests to my likes or dislikes. 
I’m not quite so big a fool as that, thank heaven. 

"No, you’re a deep one, you are,” was Pete’s sarcastic rejoin- 
der. You haven’t the feelings of a man in your whole carcass. 
You’ve bottled yourself up your whole life until now it wouldn’t 
seem natural for you to let yourself out on anything. All 
you can do is scheme, and I honestly believe you’d let any- 
body rub your nose in the dirt if it would help you carry a 
point. Your great hold is swindling somebody that haint so 
bright as you are. I’m not your style. When a man treads 
on my toes he’s going to get kicked for it. I don’t claim my 
doings have always been open and above board, but one 
thing is certain, I never was mean enough to cheat a poor 
old woman out of her home.” 

"No, but you came pretty near burning old man Graves 
out of his.” 

"Well, I had cause for it. If he’d left me alone I should 
never have troubled him. I think I showed him, in a forci- 
ble sort of way, that it was a pretty good plan to mind his 
own business.” 

"Oh, yes, no doubt. Now I should like to know what you 
meant by my cheating an old woman out of her home.” 

" Oh, you do, hey ? I don’t ’spose you can possibly imagine. 
See here, Sime, it’s all right to play the virtuous citizen with 
other folks, but it won’t go down with me. I’m no spring 
chicken, and don’t you think I am. You must imagine I’m 
green not to know how you got hold of the Hope place.” 

"I came into possession of it legally, and have papers to 
prove it.” 


220 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


”No doubt. You have papers to prove most anything you 
take a notion to; but that sort of bluff don’t go with me, 
understand that.” 

" How many people have you made this kind of talk to ? ” 

"What do you take me for?” 

"I used to think you were a man I could rely on, but the 
way you’ve been acting of late has led me to think that I may 
have been mistaken. Just bear one thing in mind, Pete 
Atkins, you are in my power. A few words from me would 
send you to prison for a long term of years. Don’t forget 
that fact.” 

"But you wouldn’t dare to speak that word, for you know 
mighty well that you would go along to bear me company if 
you did. I don’t believe you are any more anxious to live 
in a cage than I am.” 

"My dear man, you are laboring under a sad delusion. 
There is not a pai-ticle of evidence by which you could show 
to a court that I have ever had any connection whatever 
with your affairs. I have looked out for that, I can assure 
you.” 

"See here, Sime,” said Pete, fiercely, "You have had a 
chance to become pretty well acquainted with me in the past 
few years, and I swear to you that if you ever go back on 
me. I’ll have your life for it.” 

" Come, come, don’t get so excited,” said Simon in a concili- 
atory tone, evidently not liking the intense and vigorous 
earnestness of Pete’s threat. " You know very well that I 
would never betray you. Haven’t I always stood by you 
through thick and thin? What possible reason have you to 
ever look for treachery on my part?” 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK. 


221 


didn’t like your talk about my being in your power. It 
didn’t sound right.” 

”You know very well I didn’t mean anything by it. You 
and I are just made to work together. I can do the planning, 
and you can do the work. Neither of us can get along with- 
out the other. We must hang together. It’s bad business 
though when you make foolish breaks that jeopardize all my 
plans. You have energy and pluck enough to make this 
thing a success as long as we wish to continue it, if you will 
only exercise a little cool-headed common sense. That bus- 
iness at Benson’s, though, was the most foolish thing you 
ever did. It thoroughly disgusted me. You acted like a 
lunatic. 

"See here, Sime,” sneered Pete, "you might just as well 
quit your preaching. It don’t work with me. It was a habit 
you picked up while you was running the church, but you 
oughter have left it off when you got into better business.” 

"I think a fellow whose brainless folly has sacrificed a valua- 
ble man like Jean Gambier deserves to l)e preached to,” 
returned Dart bitterly. "I tell you I had a hard time to 
persuade that man not to turn State’s evidence. If he had 
the jig would have been up for both of us.” 

"That was a great piece of work, Sime,” said Pete in a 
mollified tone. "I’ve often wondered how you came it over 
him so slick.” 

"I told him,” said Simon with a thin chuckle, "that I had 
a private understanding with the Governor and would get 
him pardoned out in six months. I said that after that you 
and I would work together in the woods and let him run the 
store ; that both of us were convinced that he was true blue 


222 


tup: SxMUGGLers of chestnut. 


and would rather die than go back on us. He was waver- 
ing and uncertain when I went to see him, but after that 
nothing could induce him to speak. There is little doubt but 
what, if he had done so, the court would have dealt more 
leniently with him. In some respects I think he is the most 
gullible man I have ever known.” 

"That was neatly done. I always said you had a great 
head, Sime,” was Pete’s admiring comment upon this recital. 
"AVell, here’s a pretty go,” he added as he climbed into the 
wagon. 

"What’s the matter?” asked Simon, hurriedly. 

"I’ve lost my whip.” 

"Your whip?” 

"Yes, it isn’t here.” 

" Are you sure you had it ? ” 

"Yes, I'm positive I did. I used it back in the 
woods.” 

"Well, that’s probabl}^ where you lost it. Here, take my 
lantern and hunt for it when you go back.” 

"I tell you, it would be a bad thing if that is found,” said 
Pete anxiously. 

"Why?” 

"My name’s on it.” 

"Your name on it! What in the world do you carry a 
whip like that on these trips for? All is, we must find it. 
Here, I’ll go with you.” The two drove slowly off turning 
the lantern first to one side of the road, and then to the 
other. When they had passed out of sight and hearing, 
the boys hurried forth from their place of concealment. It 
was evident that they were very much elated over what they 
had heard. 


RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE AVORK. 


223 


” Thank heaven, we’ve got through camping here,” said 
Ned, gleefully, as he gathered up the robes. 

"Yes,” added Raymond, "and we have the inside track for 
that reward.” 

" What shall we do now ? ” 

"Well, I think Ave had better do a little detective Avork at 
the other end of this business. I should like A'ery much to 
see that 'scoop’ Pete spoke of.” 

"So should I.” 

" We shan’t want to do any thing, though, until Ave have 
thought the whole matter over, and carefully laid our plans.” 

"Of course not ; that would be foolish.” 

"The men aaIio are helping Pete in his smuggling Avork are 
probably rough, desperate fellows, and it AA^ould be apt to go 
hard with us if they should catch us spying on them.” 

"You don’t suppose they’d kill us, do you?” asked Ned, a 
little apprehensively. 

"I don’t know. It looks to me as if a man Avho would 
burn a barn to revenue himself for the killino: of a Avorthless 
and vicious dog, Avouldn’t hesitate to take human life, if he 
were driven into close quarters.” 

"I think so, too. It seemed strange to me that Pete should 
burn your grandfather’s barn for Avhat you did. That AA^as 
taking revenge on your grandfather, not on you.” 

"Yes, that’s so ; but men of his stamp never stop to reason. 
What we have seen tonight has shoAvn us pretty conclusively 
that Pete Atkins is capable of nothing in that line. Simon 
Dart has furnished the brains, and done the thinking for him. 
If he hadn’t old Pete would have been in limbo years ago.” 

"I o^uess that’s true enouofh.” 

" When the old rascal burned our barn he thought he Avould 


224 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


hit both grandfather and myself. He knew that I owned part 
of the live stock.” 

"But why should he want to injure your grandfather?” 

"He has always had a grudge against him. Grandfather, 
you know, is pretty outspoken in his temperance views, and 
has never hesitated to speak his mind pretty freely about the 
evil old Pete is doing in this town. Probably Pete was only 
too glad of a chance to do him an injury while he was squar- 
ing up his grudge against me.” 

" It won’t do for us to take any chances with fellows like 
him if we go to Letter K.” 

"Not at all. We must act cautiously and go prepared to 
defend ourselves in case of necessity.” 

There were two very happy boys who fell asleep in Kay- 
mond’s den at broad daylight that morning, to dream on well 
formulated plans which were to close the criminal career of 
old Pete Atkins. 


RAYMOND IS MADP] A PRISONER. 


225 


CHAPTER XY. 

RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER. 

"Well, boys, I suppose you will bring back Ezra John- 
ston’s catamount when you return,” said grandfather Benson 
smilingly, as he watched Raymond and Xed drive out of the 
yard for a "hunting trip ” to Letter K, Byer Ames accompany- 
ing them to bring back the team. 

"Perhaps we’ll find larger game,” responded Raymond. 

"Oh, yes, I forgot your skill as a bear killer,” said Mr. 
Benson with a merry twinkle in his eye. "Be sure you trap 
your game before you shoot it, though.” 

"We’ll attend to that,” was Raymond’s laughing response ; 
but Xed knew that his words had a deeper significance than 
grandfather Benson suspected. 

"Perhaps he’ll see more meaning to your words later on/' 
he said. 

"I hope so.” 

"It won’t be our fault if he doesn’t.” 

"What mischief are you two plotting,” asked Byer uneasily. 

"We are after the Letter K devil.” 

"Well, you'll have to go down to the Atkins place for that. 
Old Ezra Johnston found it there.” 

"You really think the old fellow was drunk when he made 
that discovery do you?” asked Raymond, availing himself 


22l> THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 

of tlie opportunity to change the drift of the conversa- 
tion. 

"Of course he was.” 

"Well, that’s the way it always seemed to me.” 

"You needn’t be afraid that we shall follow his example,” 
added Ned jokingly. 

"See here boys, you are trying to keep something back 
from me,” said Byer with a searching glance at their faces. 
"You have some scheme afoot that you don’t want anyone to 
know about. I think I can surmise what it is, without much 
trouble.” 

"I think very likely you can, old fellow,” was Eaymond’s 
smiling response ; but if you have any suspicions please keep 
them to yourself.” 

"Of course I will. You must have found out by this time 
that you can count on me.” 

"leertainly have Byer, and 1 know that if you surmise the 
purpose of this trip you can be de[)ended upon not to reveal 
it. I don’t want grandfather and grandmother to be worried 
about us.” 

"They won’t be on my account, but you must be careful 
boys. Don’t do anything rash !” 

"We’ll look out for that,” said Baymond, confidently. 

"Yes, we shan’t take any foolish chances,” added 
Ned. 

Their ride was soon over, and, having charged Byer to 
return for them in three days, they started in the best of 
spirits down the "tote” road that led to Amos Dole’s old 
lumber camp. They paused a moment at the spot where 
Cobe Hersom’s bear had so nearly made an end of big^ good 
natured Joel Webber, and would very likely have succeeded 


RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER. 


227 


in doing so had not Raymond stopped it by a lucky shot 
just in the nick of time. 

”I tell you, it Mas pretty exciting about the time he 
knocked eToel into those bushes,” said Ned. "1 never expected 
to see him come out himself again. I thought sure he M^as 
done for.” 

Raymond broke into a heai*ty laugh. "I never can hold 
in when I think of the M^ay Joel looked,” he said. "I believe 
I should have laughed just the same if it had killed him. He 
looked so comical.” 

"He took it good naturedly enough,” said Ned, "but I’ll 
bet he’d have given fifty dollars about the time he crawled out 
if he hadn’t been so free in bantering us.” 

"I guess he’d have given more than that.” 

"Perhaps he M^ould.” 

"The more I see of that thing,” said Raymond, "the more 
I am convinced that it doesn’t pay to have sport at the 
expense of others. Sooner or later they are sure to get 
the laugh back on you with interest ; besides, it’s rather mean 
business, anyway.” 

"I guess that’s about so,” assented Ned. 

The boys found the road, which was an excellent one in 
winter, when it M^as covered Muth deep snows and constantly 
traversed by heavy teams going to and from the camp, an 
exceedingly difficult one for fall travel. Stumps and muck 
holes Mere numerous, and there were stretches of corduroy 
Mhose roughly laid logs, broken and upheaved by the frosts, 
made progress extremely tedious. 

"AVell, I’m about Mulling to turn back,” said Ned in dis- 
gust. "I begin to believe that we have taken the wrong view 
of old Pete, after all.” 


228 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Why so?" 

"If he lugs things out of here, ’pon my soul I believe that 
he fully earns them by the sweat of his brow." 

"Most likely he does,” answered Raymond. "Men of his 
stamp will work a good deal harder to be knaves than they 
would have to if they were honest citizens.” 

"That’s so,” assented Ned. "It’s cost Simon Dart more a 
good many times to cheat folks out of things than it would to 
have paid for them." 

"No doubt of it; but he wouldn’t feel at home with any- 
thing that came into his })ossession honestly.” 

"Of course he wouldn’t. He’s never so happy as when 
planning some knavery.” 

"That’s so, he’s always figuring to get what he hasn’t earned ; 
but we’ll bring him to the end of his rope before long.” 

"We’ll try hard enough.” 

By the time the boys had made eight miles they were pretty 
well wearied, and the haversacks in which they carried their 
provisions seemed loaded with lead. Even their double bar- 
relled shot guns appeared to have assumed the weight of 
Springfield rifles. They saw by the sun that it was nearly 
noon, and, withdrawing to a hard wood ridge a little wa}^ from 
the road, soon had a cheerful fire going. 

"Do you suppose Pete or his gang will see this smoke?” 
asked Ned, as they sat before it disposing of a portion of the 
generous supply of provisions which grandmother Benson had 
put up for them. 

"No, and if they did it wouldn’t make much difference. 
They meet visitors with a bold face. Simon Dart has a per- 
mit to cut cedar on this township, and his men are at work at 


RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER. 


229 


the camp. I’ve no doubt they will receive us very cordially 
if we go there.” 

"Had we better do it?” 

"No, I think not, openly. AVe shall be able to discover 
more if they don’t suspect we are round. I’ll tell you what, 
Ned,” he added. "I believe it would be well for us to sepa- 
rate and work up to the camp from different sides. If that 
'scoop’ Pete spoke of is in the neighborhood of the clearing, 
we should be a good deal more likely to stumble onto it.” 

"All right,” responded Ned. I’ll meet you behind the horse 
hovel at two o’clock. There’s a clump of scrub firs just 
across the brook. You can hide in those or I will if I oret 
there first. We can time ourselves so as to arrive there 
nearly together. Two low whistles will make a good signal 
for us, if we should have occasion to use one. We shall 
have to be pretty careful how we use them, though.” 

"All right,” said Raymond. "I’ll have it in mind.” 

Ned moved off through the cedars and firs upon one side 
of the road, and Raymond through those that skirted the 
other side. "I believe I’ll get to the camp a little ahead of 
Ned,” he thought. "It will give me a better chance to recon- 
noitre there.” His reflections were startled by a rabl)it, 
which dashed from the bushes almost under his feet and 
speedily disappeared in the forest depths. In an instant Ray- 
mond’s gun was at his shoulder and his Anger almost pressed 
the trigger for a quick shot. He changed his mind, how- 
ever, and put the weapon back under his arm again. "It 
would be foolish,” he muttered, "to let them know someone 
is near and put them on their guard.” 

With the utmost caution he worked his way through the 


230 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


taiio’led thickets and about one o’clock in the afternoon found 
himself in the dense clump of firs behind the horse hovel. 

The Dole camp did not differ materially from other Maine 
lumber cani})s. It was built of large s})ruce logs and was 
capable of furnishing accommodations for a crew of forty 
men. The bunks were on either side of the camp, the men 
sleeping with their feet to the big o})en fire in the center of 
it, the smoke from which found its way to the outer world 
through |i log chimney. The beds in the bunks consisted of 
thick wool blankets si)read upon fir boughs, the debris from 
which was kept from the floor by long hewn timbers which 
ran the whole length of the camp to within about ten feet of 
the end oi)i)osite the door, where both bunks terminated to 
make room for the long table of cedar splits which extended 
across this part of the camp. The roof was made of cedar 
splits carefully lapped over each other. The door, likewise 
of splits, was fitted Avith hard wood hinges and had a Avooden 
latch lifted from the outside AAuth a leather string. AVhen 
this string Avas i)ulled inside of the camp, it AA^as effectually 
locked to all intruders. 

The back end of the camp stood on the bank of BoAA^er 
Brook, and contained the only AvindoAA^ the structure boasted,, 
a single sash, an ith six small panes, securely nailed in its 
frame. It AN^as used exclusively for light. There aaus ample 
A^entilation from the broad log chimney on the roof, through 
AAdiich the men Avere able to look out upon the stars on clear 
nights Avhile lying in their bunks. 

It AN as certainly not an imposing structure, l)ut those aa Iio 
had Ih^ed in it found a fascination attaching to its Avild, free 
life, that only those AAdio have tasted such Avorld-free exist- 
ence can knoAV' or understand. 


RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER. 


2U 


The horse hovel, a long, low building, divided into a stable 
and hay lott, by cedar splits laid on rough poles, stood next 
to the camp and almost adjoining it. 

Raymond, from his place of concealment on the opposite 
side of the brook, could catch the murmur of voices in front 
ot the camp, l)ut could neither see who were speaking nor hear 
what was said. Unable to endure longer the suspense of 
waiting, he stole silently and cautiously from his hiding 
place and climlied down into the l>ed of the brook, wher(‘ 
he found a foot bridge made of large stones, an easy stepping- 
distance apart, which had been placed there in continuation 
of a foot-path that led lietween the camp and hovel. Here 
he paused for a moment to consider what course he had 
better })ursue. He did not dare to go around to the door of 
the hovel, since it would expose him to the view of the men 
in front of the camp. He knew very well that if they should 
discover him, under such circumstances. Ids reception would 
be far from pleasant. Pete and his gang, in the face of the 
reward that had been offered for their apprehension, would 
be in no mood to trifle. The} were desperate fellows, and 
might very likely resort to desperate expedients if the situa- 
tion appeared to demand them. Raymond fully appreciated 
the importance of acting with the greatest caution. After a 
moment’s reflection, he carefully put his gun and haversack 
through one of the small windows behind the horse stalls and 
slowly and quietly worked his way after it. 

Once within the hovel, he experienced an exultant thrill of 
triumph, and felt that he was well on the way to success in 
his hazardous undertaking. The loft was reached by a short 
ladder. This Raymond pulled up behind him, after gaining 
that place of concealment. " With my shot gun and revolver 


232 THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 

I could hold this loft against a small army,” he thought, as he 
gazed around on its dingy walls. 

It was a cheerless i)lace. Through great cracks in the roof 
splits above he could catch a glimpse of the dull November 
sky. The wind found its way into the apai-tment from a 
number of holes between the logs Avhere the chinking, never 
very carefully done, had worked entirely out. In one back 
corner M^as a small pile of loose hay, which had evidently 
been left over from the last lumber operation. This Ray- 
mond piled carefully up in the front corner towards the camp. 
Burying himself in it, he applied his eye to a large hole 
between the logs, and saw a sight that filled him with intense 
satisfaction. Hard at work, astride the rude bench used for 
the purpose, was Ike Wallace busily emi)loyed with a draw 
shave in converting cedar splits into shingles. On a short 
cedar log near him sat old Pete Atkins, holding a Winchester 
rifle in his hands and evidently in a very dejected frame of 
mind. 

'Ht’s no use, Ike,” he said dolefully. "I’m afraid I’ll have 
to pull out. Matters are getting hot for ine around here. 
There’s a terrible scrambling after that reward. More than 
half a dozen fellows shadowed me out of the Corner this 
morning, but I threw them off the track by striking into the 
Bell w^oods. They found pretty quick that they couldn’t keep 
me in sight. There are few men who can follow me in the 
timber, if I do say it,” he added with an accent of pride. 

"I don’t see what you need be scared at,” said Wallace, 
looking up from his work with an air of disgust. "Nobody 
can ever find the scoop, and as long as you lay low and make 
no trips across the line I don’t see how they can trap you. 
You certainly are not obliged to lay yourself liable till matters 


KAYMONI) IS MADK A PRISONER. 


233 


g’et quieted down a little. It isn’t any crime for you to stay 
here and Hunt, is it? If the officers or bounty hunters come 
to visit us, all is we’ll take them right into the camp and use 
them just as handsomely as Ave know how. I tell you, Pete, 
there’s nothing in the AYorld like a good dinner to kill a man's 
suspicions against you. I took the stings all out of those 
Corner fellows. It’s lucky for us, though, that their noses 
Averen’t any longer.” 

"You’re a good one on those matters, Ike,” said Pete 
approvingly. "I’ll trust you to look after them, any time. 
I can’t say, though, that I like that young Frenchman of 
yours.” 

"Why not?” 

"He’s terribly rattle headed and hasn’t any judgment what- 
-ever. I feel nervous to have him round with me. I don’t 
know Avliat to expect from him. I have never found a man 
for this business equal to Jean Gambier. He kneAV how to do 
his Avork Avell and keep his mouth shut.” 

"That’s so ; he Avas a good one.” 

"C’urse that meddlesome boy ! If it hadn’t been for him, 
Jean Avould be Avith me now.” 

"That’s so, but I don’t see how the boy is to blame. Seems 
’s if I’d drop anybody that I caught burning my barn, if I had 
a shooting iron in my hands. You made a bad break there, 
Pete. You oughter listened to my advice.” 

"Perhaps so, but if you’d had a l)oy shoot the best dog in 
Chestnut, and then threaten to draAv a bead on you Avith a gun, 
I don’t think you’d liax e felt very jdeasant about it, Ike. ’Pon 
my soul, if I’d struck the young cub I haven’t a doubt but 
what he’d peppered me.” 

"Not much doubt of that, I guess,” resinnided Ike. 


234 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Well, the young bantam has succeeded in making things 
mighty nasty for me, but I'll cut his spurs off before I'm done 
with him, or my name isn’t Pete Atkins. What bothers me 
most is the loss of Gambler. I had come to depend on him 
so much that I hardly know how to get along Avithout him. 
He was a man that knew something. He always had a scheme 
for eA^ery emergency. Why, it AA^as his plan that run out 
George Fields and Bill Stetson Avhen they came here a feA\" 
years ago on a trapping expedition,” and Pete’s features 
expanded into a broad grin at the recollection. 

"I kncAV they got scared out of here, but I thought they 
really did hear some A^armint — a loupcervier, or something 
of that sort.” 

"I guess most people thought so, didn’t they?” 

"Yes, that AAas the general idea.” 

"Well, they didn’t hear anything of the sort. Jean and I 
worked that little racket. You see, Amos Hole began his 
luml)ering operations on the East Branch that fall, and Jean 
and I, knoAAung he probably AA^ouldn’t use this camp again for 
some years, took hold and fitted it up for business. AYe had 
just got the scoop done and aa^cII filled Avith collateral Avhen 
those felloAvs got along. I tell you, I felt sick ; but Jean, 
he sized them up and suggested an Injun devil scare. I didn’t 
have much confidence in its success, but thought it Avouldn’t do 
any harm to try it. About tAvelve o’clock Ave opened on the 
boys. I never had such a circus in my life. Jean got behind 
that large birch beyond the brook , and I took to the shade of 
that big elm on the further side of the clearing. You see, 
Ave didn’t Avant to take any chances in case they should shoot. 
But Ave needn’t have given ourselves an^^ uneasiness on that 
score. They didn’t have spirit enough, after Ave started in on 


RAYMOND IS MADK A PHISONER. 


235 


them, to pull a trigger. I never saw the nerve so completely 
knocked out of two fellows in my life. Jean would fetch a 
screech from his side of the clearing, and a minute latcn* 1 
would answer it from my side. AVe had made up our minds 
to give them a night of it, so we whooped it u}) till nigh five 
o’clock in the morning. As soon as it was daylight those 
fellows lost no time in vamosing the ranch, and nobody both- 
ered us again all winter.” 

”AA"ell, that was pretty neat, I declare,” laughed Ike. "Do 
you know, Pete, I believe that boldness is the very best con- 
cealment for this sort of business ? ” 

"I guess you are right there. It was all that saved me and 
Jean once. AA^e had just come over the line with three packs 
for the scoop and had thrown them down on one of the bunks, 
thinking we wouldn’t stow them away till after supper. 
AA^hile we were building a fire who should come to the camp 
but Eufe BroAvn’s boy and a cousin of his — a Portland fel- 
low, I believe.” 

^'AA'ell, I swan,” was Ike’s interested reply. "What did 
you do?” 

"AA"hy, we treated them just as perlite ’s if they’d been 
nabobs. We invited them right into camp and insisted 
they should have some supper with us. After that was eaten 
Jean and I went out in the horse hovel to have a smoke and 
talk over matters a little. AA^e agreed it would be easy 
enough to get rid of them. They evidently felt that we had 
the first claim to the camp and would not think of staying in 
it without an invite from us. AA^e concluded, though, that il' 
they were going to remain in the neighborhood for two or 
three days, as their packs indicated, we’d better insist ujion 
their staying right there. AYe’d know where they were, then, 


236 


THE SMUGGLEIJS OF CHESTNUT. 


and could watch them, but if they should go and build a 
camp of their own, they’d be twice as apt to stumble on us 
when we shouldn’t want to see them.” 

”That was a sensible way of looking at it,” said Ike 
approvingly, 

"Jean wanted to try the Injun devil scare on them, but I 
knew it wouldn’t work. No boy could be the son of Kufe 
Brown and not have pluck, and the cousin looked as if he 
had considerable backbone, too. I saw at once they were 
two very different fellows from George Fields and Bill Stet- 
son. The idea of an Injun devil would make them stay 
longer. AVe invited them to make the camp their head- 
quarters while they stayed in the neighborhood and not mind 
us at all ; we said that we should be gone a good deal, hunt- 
ing and visiting some traps which we gave them to understand 
we had set.” 

"So they stayed with you, did they?” 

"Yes, that night. About three o’clock in the morning, 
when they were fast asleep, Jean and I lugged the packs into 
the hovel and covered them up with hay. Then we cleared 
out across the line. AVhen we came back the next niHit the 
boys were gone. I don’t l)elieve, though, they suspected any- 
thing. I wish I could say as much for that deputy collector 
who was in the Court House when youns^ Brown g^ave his 
testimony at the arson trial.” 

"He saw through the hole in the grindstone, did he?” 

"Well, I should rather guess he did, from the look that 
came over his face. I sat right where I could get the full 
benefit of it, too.” 

"Perhaps he will be down here to look things over.” 

"Most likely he will.” 


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Pete seizkd him by the collar” (Page 237; 





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RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER. 


237 


At this interesting stage of the conversation between Pete and 
Ike a startling inisha}) befell Raymond, who, as we may well 
believe, had been a very interested listener. In his working 
about to get a better view of the speakers, the cross [)ole 
which supported that portion of the loft floor slipped from its 
bearings, precipitating Raymond with considerable force, and 
no little racket, into the horse stalLbelow, and nearly burying 
him beneath a pile of hay and chaff. Before he could scram- 
ble to his feet old Pete, with an exclamation of astonishment 
and rage, had bounded into the hovel and seized him by the 
collar with a grip that indicated a determination not to lose 
him. 

'"Thought you’d play the spy on me, you young scoundrel, 
did you?” he hissed through his clenched teeth, with a face 
fairly livid with passion. "Very well, sir, it won’t be my 
fault if you don’t have all the fun out of this you planned on.” 
With these words the brawny smuggler jerked Raymond 
through the door of the hovel and dragged him in front of the 
camp, to Ike’s unbounded amazement. 

"What does this mean?” he gasped. 

"This young cub has been sneaking round the hovel and 
playing the spy, that’s all,” answered Pete. He wants excite- 
ment and adventure, and it won’t be our fault if he doesn’t 
get all he wants of both.” 

"How did you come there?” inquired Ike, with evident 
uneasiness, and it was plain to see that Raymond’s unex- 
pected appearance had disturbed him not a little. 

"I was looking the camp over a little. I thought — ” 

"You were playing the sneak, you young cur — that’s what 
you were doing,” interposed Pete, savagely. It’s no use try- 
ing to palaver round us. How many are with you?” 


238 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


”I’ll leave that for you to find out. You’ll be apt to hear 
from them in due season,” said Raymond, defiantly.” 

"Well, they’ll have to hunt considerably before they find 
you. There’s a lot of starch left in you yet, my young 
bantam, but we’ll take that out of you in a very short time. 
Your bringing up’s been neglected. I ’spose you came down 
here on purpose to cultivate my acquaintance, didn’t you?’’ 

"Yes.” 

"Well, I’ll give you all the chance you want. There’s noth- 
ing small or mean about me. I’ll do my best to entertain 
you in a lively sort of way. Oh ! this will be high fun for 
you,” and Pete indulged in a grim laugh, that showed Ray- 
mond that he could look for little mercy at the hands of his 
captor. 

"Fetch me some of that rope,” continued the smuggler 
chief, tightening his grip upon Raymond till the boy had all 
he could do to withhold a cry of pain. 

In response to his order Ike hurried into the camp and re- 
turned with a roll of the small rope used in bunching shingles. 
With this Raymond was speedily bound hand and foot. Old 
Pete never for a moment released his hold upon his collar 
while Ike was doing this, and Raymond felt like a pigmy in 
his powerful grasp. 

"Now just run through his })ockets and see what you find,” 
commanded Pete, when Ike had tied the last knot. Ray- 
mond’s pockets were quickly rifled, and a seven shooter 
revolver and a clasp knife brought to light. 

"You carry quite an arsenal, I see,” sneered Pete. "Oh, 
you’re a big Injun, you are. What did you expect to do with 
those things?” 


RAYMOXI) IS MADE A PRISOXER. 


239 


” Defend myself, if I’d had a chance to use them,” said 
Raymond coolly, determined to put on a bold front. 

"Oh, you did. Well, we’ll take care of them for you,” 
said Pete. " Perhaps they’ll be used, just the same, though,” 
he added signiticantly. 

Ra^miond made no reply, wisely concluding that it would 
not be best, under the circumstances, to irritate his captor 
further. 

"See here, Ike,” continued Pete, "just take that clasj) knife 
and cut me a stout birch withe.” 

"Hold on, Pete,” said Ike in alarm. "What do you intend 
to do?” 

" I’m going to take a little of the dust out of this young 
cub’s jacket.” ^ 

"No you won’t,” was the decided rejoinder. 

"Why not?” 

"Because I won't be a party to anything of the sort.” 

" He isn’t as anxious as you are to pass the rest of his days 
at Thomaston,” said Raymond. 

He saw in Ike’s refusal to resort to unnecessary violence 
the key to his own safety, and determined to strengthen the 
old man in that position by working upon his fear of the law. 

"Don’t open that jaw of yours again,” said Pete with a 
rough shake, divining his purpose. "If you do. I’ll put 
a stopper on it that you won’t like.” He si)oke too late, 
however. Old Ike Wallace had a profound respect for the 
strong arm of the law. He had, morever, no feeling against 
Raymond, and did not purpose to be a party to his violent 
usage. He flatly refused to carry out Pete's order, and with 
a savage oath and evident reluctance the latter was compelled 
to relinquish his purpose. 


240 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE TABLES TUBNED. 

"I WISH Jean Gambier was here,” exclaimed Pete in very 
evident sincerity. "He is worth a dozen such knock-kneed 
chicken-hearted fellows as you.” 

It was evident that the Chestnut rumseller felt veiy much 
distrusted with the refusal of Ike Wallace to assist in «:ivino‘ 
Kaymond a flogging. 

"Very likely he is, in this kind of business,” was Ike’s 
response, "and he’s got to the place where such fellows 
usually bring up. If you take me for a man of his make, 
you’re very much mistaken, that’s all. What are you goin’ 
to do with that boy ? ” 

"I haven’t decided yet. One thing is certain, though. I 
shan’t let him go.” 

"Well, perhaps you’d better keep him out here in front of 
the camp,” said Ike, sharply. "Somebody’s liable to drop in 
on us at most any time, and it would be a highly interestin’ 
sight for them.” 

"You’re right, Ike. We can’t keep him here. Go in and 
open up the scoop.” 

"AA^ell, I guess I’m going to learn more about Pete’s dug- 
out than I ever mapped out to,” was Raymond’s reflection, 
as his captor dragged him into the camp. Here he was held 


THE TABLES TURNED. 


241 


a moment while Ike AVallace revealed the mystery of Pete’s 
hiding place. The boughs on one of the bunks were scraped 
away and the plank flooring beneath exposed to view. This 
was, to all appearances, securely nailed to the heavy sleepers 
beneath with large spikes. In this case, however, appear- 
ances were deceitful. Inseidino; an iron bar under the edsfe 
of this flooring, Ike quickly threw it upon its side, showing 
that it was held together on the under side by heavy cross 
cleats securely screwed on. Beneath this flooring was revealed 
a cellar, or rather hole, about ten feet square, and noAvhere 
within four feet of the outer edge of the camp, around which 
ran a heavy embankment of earth. It would have been difll- 
CLilt to conceive of a better hiding })lace. It was about six 
feet deep and was reached by a short ladder. Down this Ike 
led the way with a lighted lantern, and Pete followed with 
Paymond. 

The interior of the scoop was not at all inviting. It was 
dark and clammy, and Kayniond shuddered in si)itc of him- 
self at the thought of being confined in its dismal gloom. 
Its sides were studded with heavy cedar logs placed on end, 
and set closely together to prevent the earth from caving in. 
The floor was of a similar character. 

"Well, take a good look at it,” said Pete, roughly. "It 
will probably be your home for some time to come.” 

"Perhaps it may, and then again it may not,” responded 
Raymond, defiantly, but at the same time his heart sank 
within him, and he would have given all he possessed at that 
moment to have been safely back under grandfather Benson’s 
roof. 

There was nothing in the scoop save a few empty boxes 
and casks. It was evident. that Pete had decided to call a 


242 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


halt in his business until the storm that had gathered at the 
arson trial should blow over. 

"Here, lay him on this,” said Ike, spreading upon the floor one 
of the heavy woolen blankets which he carried under his arm. 

"One of those is enough,” growled Pete. 

"I don’t think so,” was the decided rejoinder, as Ike spread 
the second blanket over Kaymond where Pete had lain him 
as if he had been a log. Never before in his life had Ray- 
mond experienced such a desolate feeling of utter helpless- 
ness. Pete and Ike ascended the ladder. He heard the 
heavy flooring replaced. The faint light that streamed into 
the scoop from the camp was shut off. He was startled 
by the overwhelming sense that he was alone and a helpless 
prisoner in an underground apartment where even his shouts 
Avould fail to reach the outside world ; or should they do so, 
Avould fail to meet with any response. " I got out of it better 
than I expected when I flrst felt Pete’s grip on me,” he 
reflected. "I was afraid that he would shoot me on the spot. 
I believe he would, too, if old Ike hadn’t been with him. 
Well, I shall have to make the best of it, but if there’s any 
way of getting out of this place I’m going to dkcover it.” 

He strained with all his strength upon his bonds, but it was 
of no use. Old Ike had done his work well, and the hard 
knots refused to give. Raymond lay very quietly for a few 
minutes trying to conjure up some way out of his ditiiculty. 
There was something terribly oppressive in the scoop. Its 
atmosphere was heavy with mouldy odors. The light and 
sounds of the outside world were completely shut off. "It’s 
a regular tomb,” he muttered, as his eyes sought in vain to 
penetrate its darkness. "And what,” he thought with a 
shudder, "if old Pete should make it mine.” 


THE TABLES TUHNEl). 


243 


At this moment a sharp aiiawino- upon one of the empty 
T)Oxes broke the stillness of the })lace, and brought a new 
terror to Raymond. 

"Can it be possible that this place is infested with rats!’’ 
he thought, with a feeling of horror, recalling some of the 
frightful tales he had read concerning the ferocity of these 
rodents in attacking even human life when in large numbers, 
and under the pressure of hunger. He raised his voice and 
shouted aloud Immediately the gnawing ceased and the 
scamper of small feet told how groundless were his fears. 
The intruder had been a mouse. "I guess there are no rats 
here,” muttered Raymond, with a sigh of intense relief, feel- 
ing his courage return again. "I wonder what this stuff I am 
tied with is,” he thought, as he gave his arms a pull to deter- 
mine the tightness of the knots. 

Raymond’s hands Avere crossed and ])ound l)ehind his ])ack. 
He found that by rolling one Avrist a little he could reach 
Avith his fingers the rope that held them together. A thrill 
of exultation ran through him Avhen he found that it AAas a 
loose tAvisted hemp. He gave a sharp pull u})on one of the 
strands, and to his great joy succeeded in breaking it. Ray- 
mond Avas jubilant. Ilis spirits, Avhich had been at a Ioav 
ebb, rose again at this outlook for escape. With feverish 
haste he l)egan to break the small strands. But he soon 
found that the task Avas one that called for great patience. 
He had never realized before hoAV many threads there Avere 
eA^en in a small shingle rope. It seemed to him that he was 
ing no head AA' ay at all. Each little strand resisted him tena- 
ciously, as if determined to do its pait in keeping him in 
captivity. His fingers greAV stiff and tired, and he Avas forced 
to give up his work and rest them. 


244 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


At length, however, lie learned patience, and found that 
by going slowly he was able to keep steadily at his task. 
Before long he felt, with a thrill of hope, that he was mak- 
ing headway. The rope grew gradually smaller, until at 
length by a violent effort he burst its remaining strands. It 
took him but a moment to untie the cords that bound his 
legs. So far as his limbs were concerned he was free, but 
notwithstanding this, he was still a prisoner. To be sure, he 
could probably go up the ladder and lift the flooring with his 
shoulders, but he felt that this would not be a wise move. 
He would be almost certain to run across Pete or Ike, and 
knew very well that if they had occasion to bind him a second 
time he would not be able to free himself. 

While he was reflecting what course to ])ursue, he heard 
the iron bar inserted under the flooring above. It opened 
and closed again, and a moment later Ivaymond saw Tom 
Atkins descending the ladder. A lantern swung from his 
arm, and in one hand he carried a tin })late with a few pieces 
of hard tack, and in the other a tin can filled with water. 
Kaymond lost no time in pulling the blanket over him, and 
reassuming the position in which Pete had left him. 

"Well, you’re a pretty duck,” exclaimed Tom, as he held 
his lantern above his head and gazed down upon Raymond 
with a malignant leer. 

"Very likely I am, at present — by comparison,” was Ray- 
mond’s cool rejoinder. 

"See here, my hearty, it will pay you to keep a civil tongue 
in your head,’' said Tom angrily. "We hold all the trumps 
just now, so far as you are concerned.” 

"Perhaps you do, said Raymond, defiantly, but my hand 
isn’t all played yet.” 


THE TABLES TURNED. 


245 


"No, and it won’t be likely to be. I tell you, dad is the 
wrong man to buck against. You’ll wish you had never seen 
him before you get out of this scrape.” 

"It may be the other way.” 

"Oh, yes, it’s well enough for you to talk big,” said Tom 
with a sneering laugh. "It will help keep your courage up. 
Old Ike Wallace thought I was terribly willing to bring this 
grub for you. I was, but it was because I had an old score 
to settle with you. I haven’t forgotten the mean trick you 
played on me when you got Joel Webber to drop me from 
the counter in Copeland’s store. You thought you were 
doing something awful smart.” 

"That was your own fault,” said Raymond. "If you hadn't 
played the sneak, it would never have happened.” 

"Was I obliged to make a victim of myself just to give 
you a chance to laugh. I’d like to know?” demanded Tom, 
indignantly. 

"No, but you wasn’t obliged, either, to make a Paul Pry 
of yourself, and give away the boys’ fun to the men in the 
.store.” 

"I wouldn’t talk about Paul Pr^^s if I had been caught 
eavesdropping, as you were. Now you think, perhaps, that 
you are going to get these hard tack and this water, but you 
are not. It will be some time before you get anything to eat, 
if I have my way. I intend to even up matters a little 
between you and me. I’ll place this grub on the box here. 
No doubt you’ll find the smell of it very refreshing,” and Tom 
laughed heartily at his own sense of humor. "But there’s 
one little thing that remains to be done before I leave you,” 
he said, as he ])laced the lantern upon the keg, and produced a 
stout switch from under his coat. 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


24 () 


"AVhatdoyou intend to do with that?” demanded Ray- 
mond sharply. 

"I intend to do the job father was going to do.” 

"You wouldn’t be a coward enough to strike a fellow when 
he’s as defenseless as I am, would you?” 

"There isn’t any question of bravery with me in this 
affair,” said Tom. "All is, I owe you a good thr^ishing and 
I’m going to give it to you.” 

"Don’t you dare to strike me with that switch,” said Kav- 
mond. 

"But I will dare,” was the defiant answer, as Tom stooped 
to })ull the blanket from him. 

"Help! Murder! Help!” he shouted a moment later, 
in genuine suri)rise and terror. A most unexpected things 
had happened. As he })ulled the blanket away, Baymond 
seemed to rise with it, and gras})ing Tom firmly by the hair 
of the head, threw him forward upon his face with a forc'e 
that almost knocked the bi'eath out of him. Then, jum})ing 
astride of him, he fastened a grip upon his throat that efiect- 
ually shut off* his cries for help. 

"You don’t intend to choke me to death, do you?” gasped 
Tom, in genuine terror. Like most boys of his ])eculiar 
class, he was an abject coward, and now that he found him- 
self in a tight place he was thoroughly frightened. 

"I don’t know,” said Raymond, in answer to his question. 
"That depends. If you do as I say. I’ll let you off* easy, 
but if you don’t — ” and he tightened his grip upon Tom’s 
throat in a very significant manner. 

"I’ll do just what you say,” whimpered the runiseller’s son. 

"Very well, then, climb out of that overcoat.” 

The order w^as tremblingly obeyed. 



Help ! Murder ! Help I ” (Page 246) 








THE TABLES TURNED. 


247 


"Now throw off that hat.” 

The broad In-immed soft felt hat which Tom wore was 
thrown upon the coat, the thoroughly terrified fellow appear- 
ing only too glad to escape punishment at such a price. 

"Now lie face down on that blanket,” commanded Ray- 
mond. 

"You don’t mean to tie me, do you? ” gasped Tom in amaze- 
ment, as the bold plan of escape which Raymond had in mind 
flashed across him. 

"That’s about the size of it,” answered Raymond, coolly. 

Tom made no response to this, and Raymond quickly bound 
him hand and foot. 

"Now I have just one thing to say to you,” he announced, 
as he pulled Toni’s soft felt hat close over his ears, and drew 
on his long gray ulster, "and it would be well for you to 
bear it in mind. A great change has occurred recently. 
You have become Raymond Benson and 1 am Tom Atkins. 
Its a very remarkable transformation, and, of course, makes 
me feel meaner than mud. It may be hard for you to grasp 
this fact, but it’s so, just the same. Now you had better 
keep quiet. Father Atkins is considerably soured on you. 
He’s a mean, sneaking, cowardly, vindictive sort of a low- 
bred scoundrel, and it would be just like him, if he heard 
you bellowdng round down here to lift up that flooring and 
give you a shot from his Winchester. Besides, I haven’t for- 
gotten the bounce I got from Squire Copeland’s counter, and 
might take it into my head to come dowui here and give you 
a good thrashing myself. I probably shan’t visit you for a 
few days, but if you should grow hungry in the meantime, 
you will, no doubt, find the smell of that hard tack over 
there very refreshing. Ta, ta, Raymond, see you later.” 


248 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


With these words, to which Tom listened with a sickly 
grin, Raymond took the lantern on his arm and ascended the 
ladder. He applied his shoulder to the flooring and found 
that he could raise it much more easily than he had antici- 
pated. A moment later he found himself alone in the camp. 
The sunlight dazzled him. It seemed to him that he had 
spent a very long time in the scoop, and he was surprised, on 
looking at his watch, to And that it was only three o’clock. 

On one of the bunks he found his cartridge belt just where 
old Pete had thrown it, but was unable to discover any trace 
of his revolver or knife. He glanced at the camp window 
as he buckled on the belt with a half determination to make 
his escape through it. But this idea was speedily abandoned. 
The window was a single sash, securdy nailed to its frame. The 
noise occasioned by any attempt to remove it would be 
almost certain to result in discovery. Raymond decided that 
his best course would be to depend on the disguise he had 
secured from Tom to conceal his identity. He accordingly 
put on a bold front and walked from the camp imitating, as 
closely as possible, Tom’s pecular loping gait. 

To his intense relief, he found Ike Wallace the only person 
in the vicinity of the cam}). The old man was busily engaged 
in shaving shingles and merely gave him a glance over his 
shoulder, never once doubting that it was Tom. With eager 
steps Raymond hastened to the horse hovel and, climbing to 
the loft, was overjoyed to find his double barrelled shot gun 
just where he had left it. With this in his hand he felt all 
his courage and confidence return. "If old Pete and I come 
together again,” he thought, "there’ll not be so much difler- 
ence between us as there was before,” 

As Raymond was about to steal out of the door and around 


THE TABLES TULNED. 


241 ) 


the end of the hovel to the path that led across the brook, he 
was arrested bv the sound of voices. Carefullv di2r2:inf>’ out 
some of the chinking in the front of the horse stall, he saw Ike 
^Vallace engaged in conversation with a young man about 
twenty-five years of age, a dark-skinned fellow whom Ray- 
mond remembered to have seen about the Corner on several 
occasions. '"That’s the young Frenchman whom the Corner 
boys saw helping old Ike with the shingles,” he thought. "I 
wonder what he’s up to.” 

It was evident that Ike was glad to see the 3^oung man, for 
he greeted him most heartily. ” How d’ye do, Paul, he said 
cordially. I’d l)egun to fear the Custom House officers had 
you.” 

"Oh, no. Not yet. They no can run so fast as me,” was 
the laughing rejoinder. 

'"^ATdl, s})eed is a good thing in the ])usiness nowadays. 
The good old times when the smugglers and Custom House 
deputies hobnobbed and drank ])unch together have gone. I 
remember Lafe Hamm, who used to dilve team for Steve 
Larkin when the old fellow ran the Bell House at Bolton. 
There was a good deal of licpior sold there in them days. It 
was a time when eveiybod}' smiled occasionally, and some of 
them a good deal oftener. There were barrels of liquids sold 
over old man Larkin’s bar. Nearly all on it came from across 
the line, and mighty little on it ever j)aid tribute to Uncle 
Sam. One starry winter night — so light you could almost 
see to read, — Lafe was coinin’ home from across the line 
with a double horse sled loaded with barrels of rum. Jest 
liefore he got to the travern he happened to look over his 
shoulder, and Avho should he S])y sittin’ on the back part o’ 
the load but the collector o’ customs himself. The old fellow 


250 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


had been waitin’ in the doorway of his office when Lafe 
passed and got on ])ehind without bein’ noticed I^afe never 
let on that he had seen him, but drove straight on to the Bell 
House. He pulled up under the old man’s window and 
yelled out at the top of his voice, "Here you are, Steve* 
Here’s -your rum. Custom House officer and all !” 

"By sakes ! I guess it surprised lieem, hey?” 

"Well, I should rather say it did. He never let on, 
though. He dressed as coolly as he ever did, but you may 
bet he kept up a considerable of a thinkin’. AVhen he got 
down into the yard, he greeted the Custom House •fficer jest 
as bland as a herrin’. 'Why, good evening, Mr. Bennett, 
how d’ye do,’ ses he. '.Glad to see you. Drive that rum 
into the barn, Lafe. We was a little late with this load, but 
I was goin’ to l)ring in the schedule of it fust thing in the 
mornin’. Come into the house and get warm.’” 

"He go, hey?” 

"Yes, and got pretty well filled up before he left, I guess. 
The next day Steve paid the duty on the rum and nothin” 
was said about it.” 

"Oh! there used to l)e some mighty lively chaps at work 
totin’ things across the line, unbeknown to the officers in them 
times, now I can tell you. They had men o’ brains to steer 
such matters then — a mighty sight different from some on 
’em that lead off nowadays,” added Ike in a lower tone, 
casting a cautious glance about the clearing. "There wasn’t 
nigh so much risk in them days. Roads were not so numer- 
ous or so good as they be now ; people were fewer, and the 
officers couldn’t watch things so sharply. I wish you could 
have seen the crowd that used to make their headquarters at 
the Bell tavern in the old days. Smugglin’ ffourished then^ 


THE TABLES TURXED. 


251 


You see that was before our pesky liquor laws were made, 
and it was pretty hard to tell jest whether any i)articular lot 
o’ ruin was sneaked across the line or not. Everybody that 
did any tradin’ sold it then. Bless you, how times have 
changed ! Why, in them days, a man could be jest as respecta- 
ble sellin’ rum as sellin’ groceries. Nothing was thought 
on it — and, as a fact, the both on ’em were usually sold 
together. A man would have been in hard sleddin’ then if 
he’d tried to run a grocery store without a good supply o^ 
New England rum. There was lots o’ money in that part 
o’ the business. Why, bless you, there’s lots o’ folks I know 
on today stickin’ their noses in the air and playin’ the nabob, 
whose daddies, to my knowledge, made their money sellin’^ 
rum in old times. I tell you, Paul, it doesn’t take a very 
heavy foundation for a codfish aristocracy. It mostly con- 
sists in elevation o’ nose. Why, dear boy, if I’d a hung on 
to my money in the old days, and laid it up to interest, I 
might today be cuttin’ quite a wide swath with some o’ the 
loftiest on ’em. Generosity was my great failin’, but it was 
enough to shut me clean out o’ that crowd — and here I am. 
But, after all, the old days were the live ones, and I like to 
call ’em up now and then.” 

''Them been high times, hey?" 

"Well, you may jest believe they were. Talk about 
intemp’rance, bless you we don’t know the real deep down 
meanin’ o’ that word in these days o’ prohibition. I wish you 
could have jest seen the blow-outs there used to be in the Bell 
tavern. jNIost every l)ody that was present took a hand in 
them, and the amount o’ rum that would slide over the bar 
on them occasions was something tremendous.” 

"The ofiScers, where they been?” 


252 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Usually they were the first ones to get filled up, and laid 
away. They had a different way o’ puttin’ down ruin in 
them days. Talk about there bein’ as much rum drank today 
as there ever was. It’s all bosh. There doesn’t liegin to 
be as much. People are growin’ more and more temperate. 
There doesn’t bea’in to lie the rum smuo-oled across the line 
that there used to be when I first started into the business 
with old Steve Larkin thirtv vear ao'o this very fall.” 

t/ c/ o 

"What sort crowd you have?” 

"As jolly a one as ever got together. You see there wasn’t 
much dano’er in the Avork then, and the boys didn’t have 
nothin’ to Avorry them. They Avere up to all sorts o’ capers. 
Bell Akers Avas the biggest joker in the crcAv. He’s out 
West someAvhere uoav, I believe. I can see him in my mind, 
jest as he used to look Avhen he first joined us — a lank, loose- 
jointed felloAV, always grinnin’, and ahvays hatchin’ some 
mischief or other. Bill would ahvays take thiiigs good- 
naturedly Avhen he got rubbed — as he sometimes did ; but he 
never failed to pay back his delits Avith interest. He knew 
more than he ’peared to, as some of the boys found out to 
their sorroAv.” 

"He feex ’em, hey?” 

"Well, he jest did. The first night he struck camp the 
boys sort o’ sized him up for a mutton head. Yo sooner had 
he got soundly to slee}) than Dan Ellis, one of the biggest 
jokers in the camii, took a sharp knife and cut out every 
button hole on his clothes. Hoaa^ the boys nagged him the 
next inornin’ ; l)ut they couldn’t get him mad. I shall never 
forget the (juiet grin there Avas on his mug as he sat astride 
the deacon seat the that inornin' seAvin’ up the edges o’ them 
button holes. He never said a Avord about it, but you lietter 


THE TABLES TUBAED. 


253 


l)elieve he kept up a powerful sight o’ thinkin’. About a 
week after that Dan Ellis was smokin’ his })ipe before the 
tire one night, when, all to once, it sailed away through 
the log chimney in the roof, and was never seen afterwards. 
That was the beginnin’ of some of the comicalist and most 
pestiferous tricks I ever heard tell on. All on us came in for 
attention. At first the cause on ’em was a mystery, but it 
didn’t take us long to find out that Akers was the father o’ 
most o’ them. His inventive knack, and his industry was 
somethin’ wonderful. AYe stood his hilarity jest as long as 
we could, and then a crowd on us took him out in front o’ 
the camp one day, held him across a large log there, and 
gave him a sound spankin’ with a big salt codfish. He bel- 
lowed like a good one, and promised better fashions. AYe 
let him go on condition that he shouldn’t molest any on us 
again ; but, bless you, that fellow was as chuck full o’ mis- 
chief as an egg is full o’ meat. He couldn’t keep out on it, 
nohow. I will say, howsomever, that he was a little scary 
about meddlin’ with those on us who gave him the trouncin’. 
AYhen he did do anythin’ he was plaguy careful not to be 
ketched in it.” 

"De codfeesh been good for heem, I guess.” 

"Yes, it was jest what he needed.” 

"I should say dat was been so.” 

"AYell, for all his pranks. Bill was a good fellow, and I 
should like awful well to see him again ; but I ’spose that 
never will be. Times have changed in this business. There’s 
mighty few on ’em makes a success on it now, in the long 
run. I’ve had one or two mighty narrow escapes in the last 
few years, and I’m gettin’ sick on it. I’m thinkin’ o’ work- 
ing into somethin’ sort o’ respectable. AYe poor dogs are 


254 


tup: smugglers of CIIESrXUT. 


pretty .sure to l)e the ones that gets pinched in the gri})})ers 
o’ the law. 1 tell you, Paul, a man that’s got money and 
political influence can do pretty nigh anythin’ in this 
world.” 

don’t knoM , Ike. Mel)l)y so. It not kee}) Arno Damon 
from ffo to prison for smua’ii’ling, thouirh, an’ he boss more 
votes M'hat any man does in Mad’wascow. Perhai)s v'as been 
so, May back, but not now. Pete Atkins, he boss lots votes, 
but he no save him from tight feex now jus’ de same. I no 
b’lieve de gov’ment officers care very much ’bout dat.” 

''Well, it’s mighty often the case,” persisted Ike, doggedly, 
a little staggered by this practical refutation of his broad 
indictment of official honestv. "LeastMUse, I’ve knoMui a 
good many cases on it in my day and generation. Where 
are you bound for?” 

"I been gone to de Corner now. Pete wasn’t going to do 
someting more for a mont’. lie ])een going to wait for some 
smoother sailing.” 


"Well, I guess he’ll wait a good while, Paul. In my opin- 
ion he’s ffnished u}) his work across the line, and if he don\ 
clear out mighty lively, he’ll find himself where the dogs 
won’t bark at him. One thing is certain, he’s got to get out 
of this place right off*.” 

"Whaffbr?” asked Paul, Avith evident uneasiness. 

"We’ve been discovered.” 

" Deescovered ! ” 

"That’s jest the size of it. Pete and I Avas talkin’ over 
matters a Avhile ago, never susi)ectin’ there Avas a soul near, 
Avlien, all to once, AndreAA^ Benson’s grandson — the youngster 
that shot Pete’s dog, tumbled through the loft doAvn into the 


THE TABLES TUliNEl). 


255 


horse stall, He’d bin lis’nin’ up there and heard every word 
we’d said.” 

"Meeminy ! What Pete he do?” 

VHe ran in and cohered the boy and fetched him out here. 
I tied hiin up with shingle rope. Pete was goin' to gin 
him a lickin’, but I ’lowed that wouldn’t do, nohow.” 

" What you do with heem ? ” 

"He’s down in the scoop.” 

"In de scoop ! Wal, good-bye Ike. Pin glad you tell me 
d)out dees.” I been got away pretty quick. I been theenkin’ 
’bout dees two three days, now I know what I do.” Don’t 
theenk dat boy not be found. Eef he not come home when 
dey ’spect heem, de whole town come down here an’ look for 
heem. Den dey find heem sure. De jig was up, old man. 
Good bye, tek good care yourself an’ not git ketched,” and 
with an apprehensive glance about the clearing the young 
fellow speedily disappeared up the "tote” road. 

After he had gone, Ike buried his chin in his hands and 
remained for some time in a deep study. It was evident 
that his reflections were of a perturbed character. Occa- 
sionally he would raise his head and glance suspiciously 
around the clearing as if fearful of being watched. Once 
he arose and started to enter the camp with some evident 
purpose in mind, then pausing a moment irresolutely, he 
resumed his seat and former attitude. 

Raymond was in doubt as to what course of action he had 
best pursue. For a moment he entertained the thought of 
coming boldly forth and taking the old man prisoner under 
But upon reflection he abandoned the 

wiry 


cover of his shot gun. 


thought. 


He would run great risks in securing the 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


25C) 

felloMS and besides, old Pete was liable to return at any 
moment. 

Having reached this conclusion, liaymond started to climb 
out of a little window behind the stalls at the rear of the 
hovel, but immediately drew back in amazement at the sight 
that met his gaze. Striding savagely up the narrow path that 
led from the brook was old Pete Atkins, roughly dragging 
behind him Xed Grover securely bound with shingle rope. 


257 


NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES. 

After separating from Raymond, Xed Grover had struck 
boldly out into the timber, determined to make as wide a 
circuit as possible before the time appointed for his meeting 
with Raymond in the clump of lirs back of Dole’s camp. He 
Avas an adept in woodcraft and succeeded in making rapid 
progress through the trees and underbrush. "I’ll go out till 
I strike the brook and follow it dovm to the clearing,” he 
thought. "If old Pete and his crowd have any special hid- 
ing place, it won’t be far from a water supply.” With this 
reflection he continued rapidly on his way, and soon had the 
satisfaction of hearing the lively babble of the brook, as it 
ran briskly over its rocky bed on its long journey to the sea. 

"Who’d ever have supposed,” mused Xed, as he pushed his 
Avay through the bushes and stood for a moment upon a large 
boulder that jutted out from its bank, "that heavy logs could 
have been driven on such a small stream ; yet I suppose there 
are thousands and thousands of feet go down here every 
spring. The system of sluicing has been a big thing for the 
lumber interests.” 

The method of timber driving Avhich Xed had in mind is 
one adopted by lumbermen for getting logs to streams and 
rivers where the natural depth of the water is sufficient to 


258 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


float them. The timber along such waterways was very early 
cut off and floated to the mills. Then the lumbermen were 
forced to go further back into the ^voods, occasioning longer 
hauls and a consequent increase of expense in getting the 
logs to the "landings,” as the places M'here they are piled 
through the Munter, preparatory to driving in the spring, are 
called. When these hauls became so long as to be unprofita- 
ble, the lumbermen were forced to resort to new methods for 
getting their logs to the large waterways. Then it was that 
brooks which had always been thought too small for such 
purposes were utilized as waterways. The rocks and rub- 
bish that impeded their beds were carefully removed. Large 
log dams were built at convenient intervals along their banks, 
and through sluiceways in these, the logs were carried in the 
deep water thus created to the large streams or rivers Muth 
sufficient natural depth of water for driving. Vast tracks of 
timber land, once considered inaccessible to operators, were 
thus opened up for cutting, and the 'wealth and prosperity of 
the state materially increased. 

Below the place Mhere Ned had struck the brook was one 
of these log dams. It was admirably situated between two 
steep banks of granite on the bro\v of a small waterfall that 
marked an abrupt descent of a dozen or more feet in the 
brook bed. The water ran swiftly through the sluiceway, the 
gate of which, as is customary with such dams, was always 
open except during the spring drives. As a result, its artifi- 
cial lake bed was empty the greater part of the year, but its 
waters, bounding over the edge of the falls, i)lunged into a 
deep natural basin which went by the name of the Pool, and 
Was known to all sportsmen of that section as one of the finest 
})laces for trout fishing on the brook. 


NET) HAS SOME STIIIHING EXTEUIENCES. 


259 


Ned ]Mished eagerly on to this plaee, intending to cut a 
pole and try the elteet of a fly hook upon its speckled beau- 
ties. As he approached the edge of the dam, however, he 
heard the sound of anory voices from below. Crawlins: care- 
fully to its top, he looked down and saw a sight that filled 
him with amazement. Standing beneath the slanting logs of 
the dam, a short distance from the Pool, was Simon Dart, 
endeavoring in his peculiarly soft spoken and whining way, to 
pacify the anger of a brawny looking man who walked excit- 
edly up and down, talking and gesticulating in a very loud 
and emphatic manner. 

The face of this man was what riveted Ned’s attention. lie 
<•011 Id have sworn that it was Jeaji Gambier, though the last 
he had heard of that worthy was the information, conveyed in 
a brief paragraph in one of the Bolton papers, that he had 
arrived safely, in charge of the officers, at the State Prison 
at Thomaston, and had been assigned work in the carriage 
department. The man who stood before Dart, however, was 
his exact counterpart. He had the same swarthy complexion, 
the same deep, shaggy eyebrows, and snapping small black 
eyes, and his head was covered with the same profusion of 
half curly black hair. "Well, I declare,” thought Ned. 
" If that isn’t Jean Gamliier, it’s his ghost. I had a chance 
to see him during the arson trial, and I can’t possibly be 
deceived in that face.” The man’s words, however, speedily 
dispelled this idea. " I tell you,” he said fiercely, "there been 
se\ enty-five dollar owe Jean, and hees family was going to 
have eet. There been a wife an’ five youngsters, an’ dey need 
de money.” 

"Now, my good man, don’t get excited,” said Dart blandly. 
"I’m under no i)ecuniary obligations whatever to your brother. 


260 


THE SMlTiOLKKS OF CHESTNUT. 


I never employed him. His services Avere secured by Atkins. 
If there was anything due him, Pete is the man to pay it, 
not I.” 

"See you, here, dat not go doAvn. ' Eet no use for you to 
got behind Pete Atkins AA^hen you talk Avid me. I been up 
to snuff in dees beesnis. Jus’ kep dat fact in you mind. 
You de cheef mogul in dees ting. You have done all de 
head work an’ fingered pretty mooch all de moneys. Either 
you been going to square dees matters oop, or there been 
big roAv. Jus’ knoAV dat fact. I not be Jewed by you. 
Eef you not geeve me those money, I been drop on you collar 
bone like some barrel full bricks.” 

"Noav see here, my good friend, go slow. Let’s talk this 
matter OA^er calmly. I have no disposition to ‘defraud your 
lu’other’s family out of a single penny that nia}^ justly be 
due them from me. I have no intention of paying any bills, 
however, that do not properly belong to me. I Avas on my 
Avay to the camp Avhen you met me. Suppose you come 
along Avith me and see Pete. We three Avill talk the matter 
over together, and settle the thing satisfactorily. I haven’t a 
particle of doubt but Avhat Pete Avill promptly acknoAvledge 
the debt and pay it.” 

"Look you here, Meester Dart, do I look like some spring 
cheecken? Eef I do, I not so young’s A\hat 1 seem. Once 
you got me at de camp an’ you an’ Pete an’ de gang round 
dar have me in de limbo. I see myself got justeece dar. 
Bah ! Say notings to me. Dem heel been yours to pay. De 
Avork Avas been done for you, an’ you been going to square 
up for eet.” 

"Don’t get so hot, my good man. Even alloAving I do 
oAve your brother that amount, Avhich 1 don’t, Avhat authority 


. NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES. 


2(>1 


would I have to pay it to you ? Do 3^011 liave a written 
order for it from him ? ” 

"No, but I have de word from hees fam’l3^” 

"That won’t do. How is an3d)od3" to know that 3 T)u would 
turn it over to them and not keep it jTiurself ? No man has 
any legal right to pa}^ that mone}^ to 3^ou without an order in 
writing from 3'our brother.” 

"Bah! You was been pretty man to sa}^ tings ’bout de 
law. Much ’tention 3"ou been paid to eet all dem years. Dat 
kind palaver not go down wid me. I was want dat money, 
an’ I was going to have heem now an’ liere.” 

"You wouldn’t do an3dhing violent, would 3'ou?” 

"Dat been depend on 3’ou. I was going to have dat 
mone3^ jus’ a^^^re 3"ou been born.” 

With a quick movement Dart’s hand sought his l)reast, ])ut 
before he could cany out his evident intention of drawing a 
revolver, he found himself looking into the muzzle of a heav}' 
Colt which his companion had carried in his belt. 

"For heaven’s sake, don’t shoot!” he gasped. "I was 
just after 1113^ pocket book.” 

"Yes, probabl3^ dat been so,” was the sarcastic rejoinder. 
"Now, Meester Dart, put up you arms an’ 1 takes from 3'ou 
dat shooter an’ de wallet, too.” 

"You wouldn't rob me, would 3^011?” groaned Dart. 

"Oh, no. I jus’ make sure dat 3^)11 don’t rob mv brother’s 
fam’ly. It makes beeg dilie rcnce you see, Meester Dart, how 
a tiiiir was been* said.” YTth these words Gambier was 
about to cany out his intentions when both he and Dart were 
startled 1)3' the sounds of a furious struggle, and loud, angiy 
words, which came to them from above the dam. 

So absorbed had Ned been in tlie quarrel between Dart and 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


2()2 


his coiiipaiiioii that for the time he had forgotten everything' 
else. He was rudely awakened from his interest in the scene 
below him by a heavy hand upon his collar, and a rough voice 
exclaiming in his ear : 

"AYhat you do here, you young rascal?” 

Turning quickly, Ned found himself in the grasp of a man 
so closely resembling the one with Dart that he almost 
believed that it was his shadow. "It’s a l)rother, perhaps a 
twin,” was the thought that flashed across his mind. Though 
captured, Ned was far from being conquered. lie was com- 
pactly built and wonderfully cordy. With a sharp jerk he 
attempted to free himself from the strong grasp u})6n his 
collar. Failing in this, he suddenly seized his assailant by 
the hair of the head with both hands and gave him a i)ull that 
threw him off his feet. The man still kept his hold on Ned’s 
collar and they rolled together down the sharp incline of the 
dam to the basin beneath. Fortunately they brought up lU'ar 
the end of the dam, otherwise they might have sustaimal 
serious injuries. As it was, they escaped with a few bruises, 
but both were thoroughly mad. The struggle was promptly 
and vigorously resumed, but Ned was speedily overcome aiuT 
carefully tied with a strong cord, which his captor produced 
from his pocket. 

"What do you want of me?” What have I done?” he 
gasped, as he lay panting from the violence of his strug- 
gles. 

"I see ’bout dat pretty soon. I ])een interested in dat 
crowd below de dam myself. I was jus’ go to join deni when 
I got my eye on you. You was a game one, you was, but eet 
lieen no use for you try flght when I got my two duflaps on 
you” 


NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES. 


263 


"Oh, I see,” responded Ned. "You were coining to bury 
Dart after your brother had killed him.” 

"Dat not been so, my boy. I was gone for de camp. 
I links me my brother was there an’ p’haps need me. I 
strik lirok to follow eet down an’ run onto heem an Dart, 
just luck. Sam tain had de good luck find you. Ourbeesnis 
here not jus’ reg’lar, but eet’s been all right.” 

"Well, you might as well smash Dart’s head as to break his 
heart. That’s what will certainly happen if you get any 
money out of him.” 

"Well, you been a funny one,” said Ned’s captor, looking 
at him with evident interest. "What you was here for?” 

"Well, I had thought of doing a little fishing.” 

"That so ? Where was you line been?” 

"In my haversack.” 

" What for you keep heem there eef you want feesh ?” 

" I didn’t M ant to use it till I got ready to.” 

"You been a queer one. You walk way down de brok, 
hey, to find some place to feesh, an’ no find heem at 
all.” 

"I wasn’t very anxious to fish,” said Ned, "I didn’t have 
much time for it, so thought I would only try a few of the 
best holes beginning with the big pool below the dam. 1 
heard voices, and thought some one had got in ahead of me, 
so I climbed up on the dam to see who they were. Just as 
I was looking down on them you came along and collared 
me. I should like to know what you mean by it. You’ve 
laid yourself liable to the law by laying hands on me in this 
way. It’s an outrage, and is pretty apt to make you a good 
deal of trouble.” 

"I takes de chances,” said Ned’s captor with a quiet grin. 


2G4 


THE SMUGGLEBS OF CHESTNUT. 


and it was evident that Ned’s reterence to the law had no 
terror for him. 

"Do you intend to rob me?” 

"You see, pretty soon.” 

"If you do you’ll find mighty little to pay for your trouble. 
I didn’t come down here to Letter K to start a national 
bank.” 

"I theenk you know more than was been good for you. I 
keep you a while, but I don’t hurt you.” 

"Who you have there?” shouted the other Gambier, who 
at this moment made his appearance through the underbrush, 
closely followed by Dart. 

"A youngster what I caught on de top de dam, leesnin’ 
what you two say.” 

"I know him,” said Dart. "He’s the son of one of my 
neighbors.” 

It was evident that Simon was thoroughly discomfited. 
His voice was strangely agitated, his mouth twitched ner- 
vously, and his sallow complexion had taken on an unnatural 
whiteness. Ned mentally concluded that Simon had decided 
that the jig was up and was even then considering plans of 
escape — a conclusion that was shown by subsequent events 
to have been correct. 

"How much did you say was due 3^our brother?” he asked 
sullenly. 

"Seventy-seex dollar.” 

Drawing a wallet from his hip pocket. Dart dolefull}" 
counted out the amount and handed it to the first brother. 

"That was not my debt, but I will pay it,” he said. "We 
are now square, I believe.” 

"Yes, dat been all,” answered the brothers. 


NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES. 


265 


"You are quite sure that you don’t what me to pension 
your whole family, are you?” 

"We only want what been ours.” 

"Well, you’ve got more than that this morning. I don’t 
object to giving something now and then to charity. Your 
brother’s family are evidently in straitened circumstances 
and I don’t object to helping them a little ; but I don’t want 
you to try and ride a free horse to death.” 

These remarks were evidently made for Ned’s ears, and 
sorry as was the boy’s plight he could hardly refrain from 
laughing outright at them. 

Even the brothers appeared to see the humor of Simon 
Dart in the role of a philanthropist. Having secured his 
money the}" were impervious to his sarcasm, and grinned 
broadly at his peppery remarks. 

"We been all through for you?” said the elder brother, 
turning away from him impatiently. 

"Well, then, I’ll go on to the camp,” continued Dart, as he 
struck out into the woods in the direction of the clearing ; 
but Ned knew very well that it would be some time, if ever, 
before he would be seen again in that vicinity. 

"Well, what do you want of me now, boys?” he said, 
turning to the Gambiers, when Simon had disappeared in the 
underbrush. "That money was paid you voluntarily, and I 
have been a witness of nothing that will count against you. 
The only way that I see in which you have laid yourselves 
liable is in your treatment of me, and I shan’t say a word 
about it, if you let me go.” 

"Hones’ eenjun?” asked the elder brother, with evident 
relief. 

"Upon my word.” 


266 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Wal, then, you can gone,” he answered, as he untied the 
rope that bound him. 

”Nowlet me give you a word of advice, i)oys,” said Xed, 
when he found himself free. "Go to your homes in Canada 
with that money and stay there. Don’t come this way again. 
Something is going to drop round here pretty soon.” 

"Dat’s jus’ what we been going do,” was the response as 
the brothers disai)peared through the woods. 

When they had gone, Xed secured his gun and haversack 
from the place where he had left them when he climbed upon 
the dam. Then he glanced for the first time at his watch. 
'My gracious !” he exclaimed to himself, "I didn’t think it 
was so late. I was to meet Raymond behind the camp at 
two o’clock, and here it’s already half past. It will l)e after 
three before I get there, in si)ite of all I can do.” Xed was 
right in this conclusion. Although he [)ushed forward with 
all possible haste, it was over an hour later than the appointed 
time of meeting when he reached the clump of firs behind 
the camp. He felt no surprise at not finding Raymond. He 
had expected that he would get tired of waiting. "I’ll bet a 
dollar he’s scouting round that camp somewhere, he thought. 
"I’ll try that whistle on him,” and he put his fingers to his 
mouth and gave the signal that had been agreed upon when 
he and Raymond separated. It was immediately answered 
by a brisk step in the underbrush. "I thought that would 
bring him,” muttered Xed. "I wonder what mare’s nest he’s 
discovered now.” 

The step drew nearer. The thick firs parted, and Xed 
turned to find himself in the rough grasp of old Pete Atkins. 


NED HEC031ES ACQUAINTED AVTTII THE ” SCOOP. 


267 


CHAPTER XVIIl. 

NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE " SCOOP.” 

'AVell, this is great luck,” chuckled the Chestnut rum- 
seller exultingly as his tingers closed on Ned’s collar. 'H 
felt sure that tirst young cub wasn’t alone.” 

’Aland's olf. What do you ’svant of me?” said Ned indig- 
nantly.” 

"I want to see that you’re looked after and taken good care 
of,” was the sneering reply, as Pete proceeded to bind Ned 
in a very secure manner despite his most frantic struggles. 

'AVhat did you two boys think you would do round here?” 
he asked abru})tly, when he had finished this task. 

”Oh, hunt and fish.” 

” You wanted a little sport did you?” 

” It makes no difference what I want. This piece of work 
will make you lots of trouble. AVhat right have you to tie 
me up this way ?” 

"All the right in the world, youngster. I’m first selectman 
of this township. The State has neglected it; but I 
haven’t. I’ve incoi’imrated it and organized a town gov- 
ernment. Now it seems to us people here that you need 
looking after. You’re a vagrant without visible means of 
support, and there are many things to indicate that you are 
loony,” and Pete tapped his forehead with a significant grin. 


268 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


It seemed that the capture of Ned had put the smuggler chief 
in a jocose frame of mind. He appeared to extract consider- 
able amusement from his own efforts at wit. 

"Do you know where I’m taking you?” he demanded 
abruptly. 

"No.” 

"To the Letter K poor house. AVe’ll keep you there till 
we decide what to do with you. It’s evident that you are too 
dangerous a fellow to run at large. How many scalps did 
you ever lift ?” 

" It makes no difference what I’ve done. You’ll see the 
day you’ll rue this business.” 

"You ungrateful young scamp. Haven’t you any sense o’ 
gratitude? You came down here for sport, and now you 
don’t ai)})reciate my efforts to give it to you?” 

"Do you mean to rob me?” 

"Not at all sonny. To show you that I don’t, we’ll leave 
your gun and bundle o’ dynamite right here in these firs. 
You can come l)ack and get them, if the Council of State 
decides that you are all right.” 

"You’ll find there isn’t so much fun in this thins: as you 
think.” 

" I guess not sonny. Where’s the other fellow?” 

"Byer?” 

"Yes.” 

"Oh, he didn’t come Avith us in here. He just drove us 
down and took the team home.” 

A satisfied grin stole over Pete’s face and Ned was almost 
ready to cry with vexation. He saAV that the wily old rascal 
had wormed out of him the very })iece of information he was 


NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE '\sCOOI’.” 2()9 

most anxious to secure. "Kaymoiid,” he reflected, ''is prob- 
ably a i)risoner, and now that he’s got me and knows there 
are but two of us he’ll take precious good care that neither of 
us escapes.” 

" AVhen youngsters of your age undertake to put me on my 
back you’ve bitten ofl‘ considerably more than you can chew,” 
said Pete, dropping his aflected pleasantry, as he took a 
flrmer grip upon Ned’s collar and half lifted, half dragged 
him, towards the camp. "I shouldn’t wonder if you wished 
you had stayed at home where you belong, before you get 
out of this scrape.” 

"If this doesn’t mean a good deal of more trouble for you 
than it does for me, then I miss my guess, that’s all,” said 
Ned defiantly. 

"Crow away, my little bantam. AA^e’ll clip your wings for 
you, so you can’t fly very far.” 

"AVell, who’ve you got there, now?” demanded Ike 
Wallace, as Pete dragged Ned in front of the camp. 

"The boy that came down here with young Benson,” said 
Pete with grim satisfaction. "NowMve’re all right, Ike. There 
w^ere only two of them.” 

"It seems to me we’re all wrong. You don’t ’spose those 
boys’ folks will let them stay here very long without hunting 
them up do you ? ” 

"No, but it will be one thing to hunt for them and another 
to find them. Why, Ike, I’ll bet there’s been hundreds of 
people in that cam}) since we built the scoo}3 and never a one 
outside of the gang sus}:)ected its existence.” 

"Look here, Pete,” said Ike sharply, "if you think you’re 
going to keep those boys here without being discovered when 


270 


thp: smugglp:hs of chestnut. 


dozens of men get to ransacking this vicinity and even this 
camp in search for them, you show poorer judgment than I 
want to hitch to. Tliat’s all I’ve got to say.” 

''Well, to begin with, they won’t commence to hunt for 
them before a week.” 

"Why?” 

"Look at this knapsack. Boys don’t lug so much grul) for 
one day’s fun. The young cul)S are altogether to lazy for that 
No, these boys are out for a Aveek, and it Avill probably be ten 
days before their families begin to be Avorried about them. 
Before that the felloAvs aa ill be here Avith the last load of collat- 
eral. Then Ave can close up Imsiness and get out fora Avhile.” 

"You really see then that the jig is up.” 

"Of course it is uoav ; but only for a short time. In a few 
Aveeks matters Avill get quieted’ doAvn again. Peo})le Avill 
forget about it, and Ave can go on as before. All we’ve got 
to do is to hold on for a day or two more. We must see that the 
boys reach here all right Avith their stuff. It may be that 
Ave shall have to meet them and liaA^e them dump it soine- 
Avhere else. It seems to me, though, that if aac can have a 
clear coast it Avill l)e a good deal better to run it right through 
to the scoop. Then Ave can AA^atch our chances for getting it 
out to the Corner or, if Avorst comes to Avorst, ^Ye can leave 
it right there till Ave commence operations again. Nobody 
Avonld CA^ery discover it.” 

"That’s so.” 

"One thing is certain, Ike, Ave must stand by the boys and 
see them safely through Avith the matter.” 

"Of course Ave must.” 

"If everything goes right Ave can close iq) o})erations and 
clear out for a while.” 


NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE " SCOOP. 


271 


"What are you going to do with these youngsters?” 

"I don’t exactly know yet. I haven’t decided,” responded 
Pete, evasively. One thing is certain, though, I sha’n’t do 
anything that will put us in a box. Depend on it, Ike, I will 
pull out of this business all right. I’ve done considerable of 
it and have never been trapped yet.” 

Ike brightened visibly at these words and apparently began 
to feel that the outlook was not altogether so hopeless as he 
had imagined. 

"Open up the scoop,” commanded Pete, and the order was 
obeyed with considerable more alacrity than had been shown 
in liaymond’s case. 

"Now, my young lark, I’ve a fine little cage for you here,” 
said Pete, as he descended the ladder. "It is snug and tight, 
and your singing won’t disturb the family in the least,” and 
he chuckled loudly at his own wit. 

"Is that you, father?” shouted Tom, as he caught the 
sound of his father’s voice. 

"Timenation! that’s Tom!” exclaimed Pete, in bewildered 
amazement. 

"W ha- what does this mean?” he gasped, as the light from 
Ike’s lantern showed him his own son securely bound and 
laid out on the blankets where he had left Raymond. "How 
came you here ? ” 

"Raymond Benson did it. I couldn’t help it,” whimpered 
Tom, who had a mortal terror of his father’s anger. 

"Well, how did you happen to be here, anyway?” 

"Ike sent me down with some hard tack and water for 
Benson. When I got here he jumped on me and tied me. 
Then he went off with my hat and overcoat.” 

"I thought you had a hand in this,” said Pete, turning 


272 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


angrily to Ike. "A pretty mess you’ve made of things by your 
idiotic meddling. You were cut out for an old woman, you 
were.” 

"Well, I was ofoino^ to the Corner tonight and I didn’t want 
the boy to go without any supper.” 

Bah ! You were awful considerate for that boy. Well, 
your l)lamed folly has dumped our fat into the lire. All is, 
if we don’t catch that boy again, we’re dished.” 

"It seems to me your boy was the considerate one,” 
growled Ike. "If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have let a 
small boy like young Benson get the upper hands of him.” 

"How did that happen?” demanded Pete, turning fiercely 
upon Tom. 

"Well, you see,” was the whining response, "I never had 
an idea but what he was tied, so I wasn’t prepared for any 
tussle with him. I bent over him to give him a drink of 
M ater , when all of a sudden he grabbed me by the hair and laid 
me out flat. I Avasn’t expecting it, and before I could gather 
myself he had a grip on my throat I couldn’t shake off. 

"How long has he been gone?” 

"About two hours, I should think.” 

"Nonsense, said Ike, impatiently. "It wasn’t more than 
half an hour ago you came down here.” 

"Well, it seems two hours.” 

"You don’t appear to know anything since young Benson 
put you to sleep,” said Ike, tartly. "Where do you suppose 
that young fellow went to?” he asked, turning to Pete. 

"I suppose he’s streaking it for home just as fast as he can 
go,” was the reply. "Here, cut that boy loose.” Ike reluct- 
antly pulled out his knife and cut Tom’s bonds. It Avas very 
evident that the young man Avas not a favorite of his. 


NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE " SCOOP. 


273 


"What are 3^011 going to do?” he asked the father. 

"I’m going to have that boy, and yon are going to help 
me catch him,” 

"We can’t do that. He’s a quarter way to the county road 
by this time.” 

"That makes no difference,” responded Pete, energetically. 
"We’ll have him if he is half way there. Even if he gets to 
the county road ahead of us, it will make no difference. He 
will still have five miles to go through the woods, team 

is in the log hovel just above the branching oft‘ of the tote 
road, and we can easily overtake the boy with it, unless he 
should be given a lift by some team, which isn’t very likely 
at this time of da}". He’ll be pretty well fagged by the time 
he gets out of the woods. It won’t take us long to catch up 
with him. Perhaps we may overtake him before he gets to 
the county road. At any rate we’ll make a pretty hard try 
for it.” 

"It would be an easy thing for him to take to the woods if 
he should see us overhauling him on the county road.” 

"Well, I’d like to see him escape from me if I get my eye 
on him again. I think I can make about as fast headway 
through the woods as he can.” 

"Well, what if some team should meet us carrying him 
back?” 

"That thing won’t happen. The minute I get my grippers 
on that boy I shall take to the woods with him.” 

"That will be the right thing to do.” 

"Of course it will. I don’t intend to take any chances 
with that boy if I get hold of him.” 

" Do you suppose he’s armed ? ” 

"No, I secured his armory before we put him into the 


274 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


scoop. I see he’s taken his cartridge belt but that won’t do 
him any good. The other boy had the gun. It’s in the 
clump of firs now beyond the brook. I left it there with his 
pack when I collared him.” 

''I’m glad of that. If young Benson had a shooting iron 
in his hand, I for one should not want to be too free with 
him. You know by experience that he wouldn’t hesitate to 
use it.” 

"The young upstart ! Of course I know it. He’s been 
the cause of all this set back. I guess now you begin to 
wish you hadn’t been so chicken-hearted on his account. 
One thing is certain if I get hold of him again I’ll give him 
the soundest thrashing he ever got in his life.” 

"Don’t do anything foolish said Ike nervously, and it was 
evident that he was not a little worried at the situation. 

During this conversation the i)arty had come up from the 
scoop leaving Ned on the blankets below, and, while Ike was 
dropping the flooring into place, Pete seized the opportunity 
to address a few words of admonition to Tom. 

"Look here, you young numskull,” lie said. "I want you 
to keep out of that scoop. If you should go down there, 
that youngster would be certain to change places with you. 
Here take this,” he added, handing him the revolver he had 
secured from Eaymond, "and keep close watch of things 
round here. If you ever allow yourself to get taken in 
again, by a boy smaller than you are. I’ll try and pound 
some pluck into you. Understand that do you?” 

"Yes.” 

"Well, see that you keep it in mind. Come on Ike.” 
Pete led the way up the "tote” road at a dog trot and the 
two men were soon out of sight. 


NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED M'lTH THE " SCOOP. 


275 


"I’m a good mind to go down and let Ned go, anyway.” 
muttered Tom angrily, when he found himself alone. "I’ve 
no notion of being run over in this way. When they treat 
me like a dog, they’ll not gain anything. It won’t take them 
very long to discover that fact.” 

But the young fellow did not dare to put his revengeful 
thought into execution. He had a painful remembrance of 
sundry severe whippings that his father had given him, and 
was afraid to do anything that Avould so much provoke his 
anger. When he had satisfied himself that the two elder 
men had gone, he settled himself lazily back upon one of the 
bunks of the camp and was soon deeply absorbed in the 
exciting pages of a dime novel Avhich he pulled from his 
pocket. This was a class of literature to which Tom was 
very partial and it had exercised the same demoralizing influ- 
ence upon him that it does upon every boy who is foolish 
enough to read it. 

Meanwhile Ned was alone with some harrowing reflections 
in the scoop. He had heard the flooring replaced above him 
with very much the same fellings that the sound had inspired 
in Eaymond. "Well, this is a pretty fix,” he muttered. 
" My gracious, I hope they won’t catch Raymond. I think 
they’ll be mistaken if they suiipose he’ll follow the "tote” 
road clear out to the county road. He’s no fool. He has a 
little pocket compass and will have no trouble in quartering 
through the woods and striking the county road on the edge 
of the clearing. I don’t believe they’d dare to trouble him 
there, for he would be too near houses. I suppose they took 
his gun and revolver away from him. If they didn’t, I don’t 
lielieve the}" could capture him, anyway. He isn’t one of the 
kind to be taken as long as there is any fight left in him. If 


276 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


ho only succeeds in reaching the Corner, the people there 
will come down here in force and clear this place out.” 

It was a'monotonous place. The air was heavy and oppres- 
sive. Ned made an attempt to reach the rope that hound his 
arms, but old Ike had learned wisdom from experience and 
had capped Pete’s work by carefully tieing his bandanna 
handkerchief about the cords before leaving the scoop. "It’s 
no use,” thought Ned, discouraged at this discovery. "They 
have done their work well. I’d give five dollars to know how 
Raymond got away.” 

The time dragged painfully. The cords seemed to tighten 
their hold upon him. His arms became stiff’ and cramped 
from remaining in one fixed and unnatural position. Ned 
felt that home was a good ways off! that perhaps he and 
Raymond might ever be heard from again. The thought 
made him shiver. He had often threatened in his younger 
years to run away and go to sea. It had sometimes appeared 
to him that his father was unnecessarily stern in dealing with 
him. But now, he told himself that the little two-story farm 
house that nestled down on the hill-side was the dearest place • 
on earth, and that no boy had kinder parents than Ned 
drover. He mentally resolved to be a better son to them, if 
he ever had a chance to try. AVith deep remorse he thought 
of the many times he had permitted his father to do things 
that he might just as well have done himself, how often he 
had gone hunting and fishing v hen the work on the farm was 
sadly in need of him, and how indignant he had grown on 
several occasions when his father had refused to let him off. 
"I’ve been too lazy to live,” he muttered as he thought of 
these things. 

Ned’s father mtis one of the well to do farmers of Chest- 


NED IiP:COMES ACQUAINTJM) WITH THE " SCOOP. 


Hut, and his mother, a 1)usy, sweet-faced little woman, was 
one of it's most loved and respected ladies. Ned was their 
only child, and they had sometimes been accused of ''humor- 
ino- him to death” by some of the good spinsters of the town 
who were always ready to volunteer valuable suo’s^estions to 
l)arents as to the proi)er way of training u}) children. Ned 
was not Avithout his faults. He Avas Avilful and impatient of 
restraint, and apt in moments of anger to do and say things 
Avhich he afterwards dee})ly regretted. For all that his 
])a rents felt that they had many, reasons to feel justly proud 
of him. He Avas a boy of excellent character, thoroughly 
truthful and honest. His evenings were spent at home, and 
he Avas never knoAvn to use profane or vulgar language. His 
father had laid up, by industry and economy, a handsome 
sum of money in the Bolton savings bank, Avith Avhich he 
contem})lated giving his son the advantages of a liberal edu- 
cation later on. Ned Avas indeed fortunate in his home, and 
it Avas no Avonder that his thoughts Avent out to it with 
unwonted tenderness as he lay bound and heli)less in the bot- 
tom of Pete Atkins's underground hiding place. 

His reflections Averc interrupted by the sound of a l)ar 
inserted under the edge of the moval)le flooring above. 

"The jig is uj),” he thought. "They’ve caught Ivaymond.’’ 

A moment later the flooring was thrown aside and Tom 
Atkins came sloAvly doAvn the ladder, closely followed by 
Kaymond Benson bearing a lantern on his arm and holding a 
revolver in his hand, ready to shoot at the first sign of treach- 
ery the part of his prisoner. 


278 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

FETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS. 

AVhen Raymond Benson from liis place of concealment in 
the horse hovel saw his friend Xed Grover securely bound and 
in the clutches of old Pete Atkins, he was overcome with 
surprise . He was unable to imagine how he had been captured . 
His first impulse was to seize his gun and go to his assistance, 
but fortunately his more sober second thought restrained him. 
He saw that his chances of capturing lioth Ike and Pete would 
be small, and that unless he were able to do this, anv ao:<yressive 
move on his part would be folly. It would only result in 
making him Ned’s comiianion in the scoop, and would cut ofi‘ 
all hope of escape for both. He wisely decided, therefore, 
that under the circumstances discretion Avould prove the better 
part of valor. He could accomplish vastly more by strategy 
than he possibly could by force. It occurred to him that when 
Pete and Ike discovered that he had escaped from the scoo}), 
they would lie consideralily disturbed and would lose no time 
in searching for him. They would do this the more readily 
because they siijuiosed him unarmed. He knew very well 
that Pete wouldn’t look for him on the foot-jiath across the 
lirook. He had Just come from that direction and would 
think, no doubt, that if Raymond had been in that vicinity 
he would have becm with Ned, or at least answered to his 


PETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS. 


279 


signjil. "They’ll think I went home,” he reflected, "and will 
look tor me along the tote road. Perhaps it would be better 
for me to find a hiding place in the thick woods to the left of 
the clearing. They’d scarcely think of looking for me there, 
and if they did, I could defend myself. I will also be in a 
good position to watch the camp, and if those old fellows 
leave the clearing, something will happen that will astonish 
them considerably when they get back. I’m in condition 
now to fight them on equal footing if worst comes to 
worst.” 

AMth this determination Raymond waited until he felt sure 
that Pete and Ike had descended into the scoop with their 
prisoner. Then making a quick dash across the clearing to 
the jflace of concealment he had selected, he forced his way 
through a growth of scrub cedars that fringed it, and threw 
himself behind a large hemlock, which had been blown down 
by the wind. "This will answer for a fort and hiding place, 
too,” he thought. "I believe I could hold my own here with 
half a dozen men like Pete Atkins.” 

At the foot of the hemlock behind which Raymond had 
found such an excellent place of concealment, the large, 
gnarled roots had been half pulled from their bed of soggy 
earth. The moss and soil that still adhered to them formed 
a massive web of natural lattice. Through it were several 
small openings which Raymond found, to his delight, com- 
manded a good view of the whole clearing. Scarcely had 
he taken his position at this post of observation, when Ike 
Wallace and old Pete Atkins emerged from the camp. It 
was evident from their actions that they were laboring under 
great excitement. Pete, after jiausing a moment at the camp 
door to speak a few sharp words to someone within, started 


thp: 8muggl?:i{S of chestnut. 


2^^() 

up the tote road at a dog trot, and Ike rapidly followed him. 
In a few moments both men were out of sight and hearing. 

"They have left Tom to guard Ned,” thought Raymond, 
exultingly. "I’ll bet his father stopped and warned him not 
to get caught again. iVIy ! l)ut mus’n’t he have felt chea[), 
though, when his father found him down in the scoop !” 

Raymond chuckled merrily at the thought of Tom’s chagrin 
and discomfiture. AAdien he felt sure that Pete and Ike Avere 
out of hearing, he left his hiding place [ind stole softly across 
the clearing. ^Making his Avay to the rear of the cam[), he 
crawled quietly upon the earth embankment and looked in 
through the window. The sight within shoAved him that his 
extra ])recaution had been needless. Curled comfortably iq) 
on the blankets of one of the bunks Avas Tom Atkins, com- 
pletely absorbed in the exciting pages of the flashy novel he 
was reading. The fire in the center of the camp had burned 
low, but he Avas entirely oblivious of the fact. 

"I’ll bet a cannon shot wouldn’t rouse him,” thought Ray- 
mond. "Well, one can’t expect much else than AA^eeds to 
grow in a mind seeded Avith that literature. I suppose that 
shalloAV-pated felloAv, Avho hasn't courage enough to face an 
intelligent sheep, thinks he Avould be able to achieve endur- 
ing fame as an Indian killer and scalp lifter. Perhaps he 
imagines himself a bold pirate or a highway robber. Such 
fellows are usually the heroes of those stories. I really believe 
though, that one square look at a real Avild Indian, or a single 
sniflf of genuine gun poAvder, would scare him into fits. It’s 
an awful easy thing to kill Indians and play the desi)erado on 
paper. I suppose Tom does iq) a dozen or tAvo men in his 
mind everv time he reads that bosh. A felloAv Avho ffets 
hitched on to that kind of reading loses all taste for the 


TETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS. 


281 


works of good writers. It is the worse kind of mental 
poison and I believe the publication of it ought to be pro- 
hibited by law.” 

With these reflection, Eaymond made his way to the door 
of the camp. Carefully lifting the latch, he swung the door 
open a little way and entered the camp, softly closing it 
again behind him. Then stepping in front of Tom’s liunk he 
pointed his gun at the young fellow’s head and shouted 
sternly : 

"You are my prisoner! Surrender.” 

With a wild start Tom dropped his book and gazed at 
Raymond like one awakened from a dream. Terror and 
amazement were depicted in every line of his face. Ray- 
mond’s revolver lay on the bunk beside him, but he made no 
effoi-t to reach for it. 

"H — how did you come here?” he gasped. 

"On my legs,” answered Raymond coolly. "Climb out of 
that bunk,” he added peremptorily. 

Tom lost no time in obeying this order. 

"Now light that lantern,” commanded Raymond, as he 
stepped to the bunk and took possession of the revolver. 

"What for?” 

"It makes no difference. I advise you to do as I tell you, 
and be quick about it.” 

Tom sullenly did as he was directed, at the same time 
starting toward the scoop. 

"Hold on,” said Raymond. "I guess I’ll take charge of 
the glim,” and he took the lantern from Tom’s hand and hung 
it upon his own arm. He saw that the rumseller’s son was in 
a desperate mood, and did not intend to leave him any loop- 
hole for escai)e. At Raymond’s command Tom threw off the 


282 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


flooring that covered the scoop and descended the ladder, 
Raymond following him closely with the lantern and revolver. 

"Well, where in the world did you drop from?” exclaimed 
Ned joyfully, as he recognized his friend. "1 began to think 
that both of us would end our days in this hole. I tell you 
old fellow, your face right here at this time is about the most 
cheerful sight that I have ever seen. I was beginning to get 
terril)ly down at the mouth. 

"I know all about it. I’ve been here myself.” 

"Well, I don’t want any more of it.” 

"It’s all right now, Ned,” said Raymond, enthusiastically. 
"You and I are on top of the heap. We have the inside 
track. Here, take your knife and cut his ropes,” he added 
to Tom. 

The order was tremblingly obeyed. 

"Now, Ned, just tie him up. Get down on the blanket,”' 
he added, addressing the rumseller’s son. 

" See here,” whimpered Tom, "you’re not going to leave me 
here again, are you?” It was evident that his former exper- 
ience in the place had given him a wholesome horror of it. 

"Well, that’s about the size of it,” I’esponded Raymond. 

"Please don’t do that,” pleaded Tom. "I’ll do anything 
you say if you won’t put me down here. You don’t want 
him to do it, do you?” he added appealingly to Ned. 

"I’ve nothing to say about it,” was the response. "Rut I 
don’t see as it’s any worse for ^ou down here than it has l)een 
for me.” 

"Down with you,” said Raymond, sharply. "We’ve no 
time to fool with 3^011. If matters go as I hope, I’ll promise 
that 3^011 sha’n’t have long to sta3" here.” 

With a very poor grace Tom submitted to the inevitable 


PETE ATKINS IX THE TOILS. 


288 


and was soon securely bound and laid away under the 
blanket. 

"Xow what? ’ asked Ned when he and Raymond stood in 
the camp, after carefully rei)lacing the lioorin<>: over the 
scoop. 

"The next thing is to get Pete.” 

"Don’t we want Ike, too?” 

"Yes, but I don’t believe we shall have a chance to get 
him.” 

"Why not?” 

" In my opinion the old fellow won’t show up in this section 
again right away. This afternoon’s jiroceedings have rattled 
him badly.” 

"Perhaps Pete won’t come back.” 

"Don’t have any fear of that. He will return for Tom, if 
for nothing more. I think myself, though, that the old fel- 
low sees that he is nearly at the end of his rope.” 

"We don’t want to run any risks with him.” 

"Of course not.” 

"How shall we drop on him? He is as wiry as a cat, and 
won’t give up if he can help it without a desperate tight.” 

"j\ly idea is this. He will be sure to go to the scoop, 
about the first thing when he comes back. You and I can 
watch for him through the window on the back of the camp 
and drop on him about the time he is lifting that flooring.” 

"Don t you suppose he’ll show tight?” 

"He won’t dare to if we cover him with the revolver and 
shot gun.” 

"Perhaps he’ll think that we wouldn’t dare to shoot.” 

"No, he won’t. After tlie exi)erience he has had with me 
he will know better than that. 


284 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


" But what if he should leave the tote road and follow the 
brook bed down to the camp?” 

"AVell, even if he did, we should be able to hear him before 
he could see us and get round on the side of the camp. AVe 
should be out of sight there.” 

"You’re right, old fellow. Your head is longer than mine. 
Did you notice how Pete was armed ? ” 

"Yes, he had his Winchester rifle and Ike had a shot gun. 
I think, too, that Pete must have had my clasp knife.” 

"How shall we divide our armory?” 

"You may take the shot gun and I’ll keep the revolver. If 
we drop on old Pete I will cover him and you may tie him.” 

"I declare, we couldn’t possibly find a better place to watch 
from than this,” said Ned, when he and Paymond had taken 
their positions behind the camp. "How did you find it?” 

"I was here and got the lay of the land before I captured 
Tom.” 

The place was indeed most admirably adapted to the plans 
of the boys. That end of the cam}), on account of its ex})osed 
position, had been given a broad embankment of earth that 
came almost up to the window. On this the boys were able 
to lie and get an excellent view of the cam}). They were thus 
able to secure at the same time, without fear of discovery, a 
fine view of the clearing and of the interior of the cam}i. 

"Pm afraid we shall be dished, Baymond,” said Ned, when 
they had taken their }:)Ositions. 

"Why?” 

"If old Pete goes clear out to the county road, it will be 
long after dark when he gets back.” 

" But he won’t go to the county road.” 

"Why?” 


PETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS. 


285 


"If he doesn’t find any trace of me on the "tote” road in 
the frst mile or two, he will hurry liack here to try and dis- 
cover my trail before dark. Ike will probably push on to 
the county road, and you may be sure he will never show 
up here again, though he won’t he fool enough to let Pete 
suspect it. 

"I believe you’re right, old fellow.” 

” I am confident of it.” 

"It would be a bad thing for him if old Pete should run 
across him again, after having been left in the lurch.” 

"You may rest assured that if Ike clears out, he will take 
precious good care that Pete never sees him again. He’s 
shrewd enough for that.” 

" I guess that’s so. The old fellow is brighter than he looks 
to be. Hark! What’s that?” 

The boys listened with bated breath. Down the "tote” 
road came the quick tread of a man. Peering cautiously 
around the corner of the camp, Kaymond saw Pete Atkins 
come into the clearing at an even faster pace than he had left 
it. The old fellow was very evidently in a savage frame of 
mind, and there was an energy about his movements that told 
the boys he would be an ugly customer to handle. With long 
strides he made his way into the camj), where he stopped 
short in amazement and surprise . It was evident that he was 
terribly disconcerted at Tom’s absence. He went to the door 
of the camp and took a careful look about the clearing, fol- 
lowing it up with a visit to the horse hovel. He returned, 
evidently satisfied that there was no one about the place. 

"My soul I I shouldn’t want to be in Tom’s place if Pete 
should get his hands on him,” whispered Ned. 


THE SMUGGLEKS OF CHESTNUT. 




”Sli-h,” was Kaymoncrs warning response. ”He won’t do 
it. Come on.” 

The l)oys saw that the time for action had arrived. Old 
Pete had leaned his gun in one corner of the camp, lighted the 
lantern and started for the iron bar which leaned against 
the door where Kaymond had purposely left it. Taking 
this, he inserted the point under the edge of the flooring above 
the scoop. Before he could lift it, however, he was startled 
by a sound behind him, and turning quickly found himself 
covered by a revolver and shot gun in the hands of liaymond 
Benson and Ned Grover. 



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Hands up, sir!’ shouted Raymond, sternly” (Page 2S7) 









JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE. 


287 


CHAPTEE XX. 

JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE. 

"Hands up, sir!” shouted Eaymond, sternly, as the dis- 
comfited smuggler turned upon them. "You are our pris- 
oner. If you attempt to resist us, your life won’t be worth 
a moment’s purchase.” 

There was something in the tone of this command that con- 
vinced Pete that it would be wise to obey it. He saw plainly 
that his captors were not to be trifled with. 

"What do you want of me?” he demanded, savagely. 

"You’ll find out pretty quick,” said Xed, coolly. 

"You have your innings now. Mine will come later on,” 
growled the smuggler chief as he complied with Eaym'ond’s 
order. 

"Perhaps they may, but I have serious doubts of it. I 
think the game is played for you. Just run through his 
pockets, Xed, and see what you can find there.” 

Xed did as he was directed, but the only weapon he dis- 
covered was the clasp knife which Pete had taken from 
Eaymond. 

"Xow cross your hands behind you,” commanded Eay- 
mond, when Xed had completed his search. 

"What for?” 

"You’ll see soon enough.” 


288 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


”AYell, I sha’n’t do anything of the kind.” 

"Either you’ll put your hands behind you, and be quick 
about it, or I’ll drop you in your tracks. After the expe- 
rience I've had with you I’m in no mood for fooling,” said 
Eaymond, sharply. 

With a savage oath Pete did as he was directed. His face 
was fairly livid with rage and chagrin, and nothing but the 
firm conviction that such a course M ould mean instant death 
to him prevented him from springing at the throats of his 
captors. 

When Ned had carefully bound his arms Muth many coils 
of the shingle rope, and croM ned the M^ork with Ike W al- 
lace’s bandanna handkerchief, the flooring M^as lifted and Eay- 
mond gave the order to march. Slowly and carefully Pete 
made his May doMUi the short ladder, to the unspeakable 
astonishment and disappointment of Tom, Mdio had never 
dreamed of seeing his father in such a plight. He had heard 
the flooring removed in the full expectation that his father 
had returned and Mas about to release him. He had never 
doubted for a moment that Eaymond and Ned had made for 
home Mith all possible speed upon leaving the scoop. The 
situation M^as not without its recompense for Tom, however. 
He M^as even a greater com ard physically than morally, and 
had felt with fear and trembling that his father would give 
him a terrible thrashing when he again found him in the same 
predicament as when Ned M^as brought into the scoop. With 
the boys he felt safe from corporal punishment, and in this 
thought he found a solace for his confinement. His father 
might not be very sociable but he Mmuld be company, and 
that Mas considerable in the darkness of the scoop. 


JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE. 


289 


"Well, Tom,” said Eaymond, as he flashed the lantern into 
his face, we’ve brought you a bed-fellow.” 

"Yes,” said Pete savagely, "if it hadn’t been for your 
snivelling idiocy, things might have gone the other way.” 

"Hold on, Mr. Atkins,” said Ned, "it wont help the situa- 
tion in the least to belabor your son.” 

"I couldn’t help it,” whined Tom. "He took me by sur- 
prise.” 

"Yes, no doubt of it,” said Pete sarcastically. "You 
are one of those sleepy fellows who are always getting 
surprised.” 

"It seems to me that he isn’t the only one in the family 
that has that failing,” said Kaymond impatiently. "Climb 
down on that blanket, Mr. Atkins.” 

Pete sullenly took his place by the side of Tom and Ned 
soon saw that his legs were as securely bound as his arms. 

"Now,” said Raymond, as he surveyed his prisoners with 
evident satisfaction, "we shall be obliged to leave you here 
for a while. It’s an uncomfortable position for you, I know, 
but I don’t see how we can very well avoid it. We shall get 
you into other quarters at Bolton, though, before long.” 

With these words, Raymond and Ned returned up the 
ladder into the camp. AYhen they had replaced the flooring 
above the scoop and replenished the fire which had nearly 
died out, they sat down upon the deacon seat before its cheer- 
ful blaze to plan how they should get their prisoners to the 
Corner. Now that they had them safely secured, they began 
to feel that Pete and his son were white elephants on their 
hands. 

"I don’t see but what we’ve got to stay here all night, 


290 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


said Ned. "It will be two days before Byer comes after us 
with the team and it’s altogether too much to think of mak- 
ing the Corner tonight without one. I’m certainly too tired 
to walk that far, even if we could have daylight for it.” 

"You are right, Ned,” assented Raymond. "It’s five o’clock 
now and would be pitch dark before we could cover half of 
the ten miles to the county road. Then there would be eight 
miles more to the Corner. I agree with you. We had bet- 
ter stay right here tonight and start at daybreak in the morn- 
ing.” 

"But Mdiat if Ike AVallace or some others of the gang 
should walk in on us?” 

"’I don’t have much fear of that. There isn’t any doubt 
in my mind but what Ike has cleared out. I don’t believe 
he will be seen in these parts again for a long time, perhaps 
never.” 

"I don’t think any of the gang will trouble us, either,” 
said Ned, brightly, as a sudden thought came to liiiii. "I 
heard Pete tell Ike Wallace when they were starting out to 
look for you, that we undoulitedly came prepared to stay a 
week, and that it would probably be ten days before our 
folks got Avorried enough about us to hunt for us. lie said 
that before that time the boys would be back Avith the last 
load of collateral, and the business Avould be dropped for a 
AAiiile, till the storm bleAV over.” 

"Well, if that’s the case, there probably won’t be any of 
the gang about here for five or six days,” said Raymond. 

"There’s another thing,” said Ned. "Pete also spoke of 
having a team in the old log hovel on the county road near 
the place where the tote road branches off. I had nearly 
forgotten that.” 


JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEX A SURPRISE. 


291 


"Well, you may make up your mind that it didn’t slip Ike 
Wallace’s memory,” answered Raymond. "If Pete had a 
team there, you may feel pretty certain that Ike is well on 
his way to Canada by this time. You don’t lose that old 
coon very easily.” 

"That’s so. He knows how to take care of himself. Let’s 
go down in the firs and get my gun and haversack.” 

"Don’t you suppose Pete has taken them?” 

"No. He hasn’t had time. He had all he wanted to do 
to take care of me, so he left my things where he found me. 
No doubt he intended to go after them later, but when he 
got into the scoop and found you were gone, he lost no time 
in getting after you. I don’t doubt but what we shall find 
things in the firs just as he left them.” 

" Wei I , we will go after them together. We must hurry about 
it though. It won’t do to leave the camp unguarded long.” 

The boys hurried across the brook, and along the narrow 
path to the firs, where, sure enough, as Ned had predicted, 
the gun and haversack were found just where Pete had left 
them. Raymond and Ned returned to the camp in triumph 
with them. 

"It looks to me as if our victory were about as complete 
as it possibly could be,” said Ned when they sat together 
again upon the deacon seat.” 

"I don’t know what is lacking,” responded Raymond. 

The conversation of the boys was interrupted by the sound 
of a quick step in the clearing. 

"I believe that’s Ike Wallace,” said Ned, reaching for his 
shot gun. 

"No, it isn’t,” said Raymond. "Old Ike hasn’t stepped in 
that brisk, vigorous way for years.” 


292 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


"Perhaps it’s one of the gang.” 

"Perhaps so, hut we shall hardly be fools enough to sit 
here with a revolver and shot gun in our hands and let one 
man take us prisoners. He won’t be expecting to see us and 
it will be an easy matter to get the drop on him.” 

"We don’t want to be too hasty.” 

"No, we will have the advantage. The surprise will be on 
the other side.” 

The step drew nearer, the door was thrown open, and a 
big, broad-shouldered young man stepped into the camp. 
Kaymond and Ned at once covered him with their weapons, but 
immediately lowered them in astonishment and chagrin, when, 
to their great joy, they recognized the round, good-natured 
face of Joel Webber. 

"Put down your shooters, boys,” said the big fellow with 
a comical grin. "I surrender, and you may have every 
blessed thing in that pack 1 just brought across the line.” 

Kaymond and Ned gave one long look to make sure that 
their eyes had not deceived them and then rushing forward, 
seized both of Joel’s hands and <jave them such a shakino^ as 
left no doubt of the cordiality of their welcome. 

" How in the world did you come here ? ” they asked in 
chorus. 

"Easy, easy, boys. Give me a little chance to catch my 
breath,” laughed the big fellow, as he seated himself on the 
deacon seat and stretched out his hands to the cheerful blaze 
of the fire. 

"I give myself up.” 

"Well, we’ll, take good care of you,” said Ned warmly. 

"I should almost surmise from my reception that you were 
not expecting me. Didn’t get my telegram, did you?” 


JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE. 


293 


believe you’d joke at a funeral, Joel,” laughed Raymond. 

"Well, that would depend a good deal on whose funeral it 
was. You boys, if I remember correctly, laughed pretty 
heartily at what came very near being mine,” he added with a 
good natured grimace. 

"You couldn’t blame us for that old fellow,” said Ned. "You 
would have laughed yourself if you could have seen how you 
looked when that bear knocked you into the underbrush.” 

"Oh, I never blamed you boys. I was only too glad to do 
something to amuse you. I’m a generous sort of a soul any- 
way ; always ready to make a martyr of myself upon the 
alter of hilarity. I went out into that second growth on my 
way down here and had a good laugh all to myself, just 
from thinking how comical that bear must have looked.” 

"That’s an unselfish way of putting it,” laughed Raymond. 
But, old fellow. I’m glad to see you. Your appearance at 
this particular time seems almost providential.” 

"If you’d been old cloven foot himself, it wouldn’t have 
astonished us a bit more, added Ned. 

"Well, I guess we’re not very far from the favorite resort 
of one of his imps,” responded Joel. 

"I guess not, too,” said Raymond. "But you haven’t told 
us what brought you here.” 

"Well, I had an idea that you was turning some scheme in 
your mind when I saw you reading the reward notice in the 
Post Office the other day. I went up to Bettycook Lake 
fishing day before yesterday and didn’t return till this morn- 
ing. On my way back I met Byer Ames, who told me that 
he had driven you two young hoodlums down to Letter K. 
It didn’t take me long to smell a good sized rat. I hurried 
home and did some chores about the house. I hen I har- 


294 


THE SMUG GLEES OF CHESTNUT. 


nessed the old gray mare into the beach wagon and here I 
am. I kinder thought by the way you fellows started out on 
me that you’d turned buccaneers, but I’ve partially changed 
my mind since. In fact, I almost dare to believe that you 
are glad to see me.” 

"You know we are, you old rat,” said Ned. 

"Well, I see you haven’t captured Old Pete yet,” continued 
Joel, glancing about the camp. 

"That’s where you’re mistaken,” said Raymond. 

"Of course you have,” laughed Joel, and got him stowed 
away in that pack probably,” he added, pointing at Ned's 
haversack.” 

"You think we are joking, do you?” 

"No, indeed,” said Joel, with mock solemnity. "You two 
boys never joke any. Dud Rich will swear to that.” 

"We are not joking this time. We have told you the 
truth,” said Raymond, with an earnestness that left Joel no 
doubt of his sincerity . 

The big, good-natured fellow could scarcely credit his 
senses. His banterino: tone left him. 

"Wha-what?” he ejaculated, in genuine amazement. 

"I mean just what I say. We have captured Pete Atkins 
and have him thoroughly bound and safely stowed away. 
What’s more, we have evidence enough against him to con- 
vict him twice over.” 

"You’re not joking, are you, boys?” persisted Joel, 
incredulously. 

"Not a bit of it. We never were more serious in our 
lives,” said Ned. 

"Well, I swan ! ” ejaculated the big fellow. "That beats 
all I ever heard of. Where is he?” 


J0P:L WEBBER IS GIVEX A SURPRISE. 


295 


Without a word Raymond rose, and taking the iron liar 
from the bunk, lifted the flooring from its place. 

"Well I snum to gracious !” exclaimed Joel, as he peered 
down into the depths of the scoop. "AVhat infernal lunk- 
heads some of us have been ! Why, boys, it wasn’t more 
than six weeks ago that Cobe Hersom and I were down here 
fishing and slept all night exactly over that hole. I vow we 
deserved to be kicked to death by mosquitoes.” 

"Not so bad as that, old fellow,” responded Raymond, "It 
isn’t at all surprising that so skilful an arrangement as that 
should have escaped detection. No one would think of look- 
ing here for anything of the sort.” 

"Well, perhaps not,” admitted Joel, "but I can’t help 
feeling a little cheap, all the same, to think that my nose was 
so near this discovery and didn’t succeed in smelling it out. 
Let’s take a look at the inside of the pit.” 

The three accordingly descended the ladder. Joel’s 
amazement was only deepened when he saw the nature of the 
hiding place by which the Chestnut rumseller had been able 
so long to escape detection in his smuggling operations. 

"The very boldness of this thing has been all that’s saved 
it,” he declared ; then, lantern in hand, he walked along and 
took a good look at Pete and Tom. 

"Well, you’re a couple of chromos,” was his comment. 

"Yes, you can well aflbrd to insult a man when he can’t 
defend himself,” sneered Pete. "There are times when some 
people are mighty brave.” 

"Well, I never discovered anything very alarming about 
you,” said Joel. "You never have been the one to fight man 
fashion. You’d a good deal rather sneak round in the night 
and burn a man’s barn or stab his horse. Oh, you’re a very 


296 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


brave fellow, you are. There’s a government job waiting 
for you." 

'’Don’t l)e too sure of that. You haven’t got through with 
me yet.” 

"Well, we shall lose no time in doing so. You are like a 
rotten egg — the sooner rid of the better. Cut the ropes 
from their legs, boys.” 

"What for?” asked Kaymond in surprise. 

"Because we’re going to start for home.” 

"But it will be dark in an hour.” 

"Well, what of that? We have a lantern and it will be 
smooth sailing after we get to the county road. I think we 
ought to reach the Corner by nine o’clock. I’m willing to do 
just as you say, boys, but I believe that the sooner we get 
these fellows to the jail at Bolton, the better it will be.” 

After a moment’s reflection, the boys decided that Joel was 
right. The ropes that bound the legs of Pete and Tom were 
cut, and they were taken up into the camp. Here they 
were both tied to a long rope, the end of which Joel wound 
about his waist, laughingly declaring that the prisoners would 
find him a good anchor in case they should attempt to get 
away. Raymond and Xed with their guns on their shoulders 
headed the procession, the former carrying the lantern. In 
spite of all their efforts to make good time, the trip was a 
slow and tedious one, and it was eight o’clock when they 
finally reached the county road. After this, as Joel had pre- 
dicted, their progress was easy. Pete and Tom Atkins were 
given a place on the wide front seat and Joel sat between 
them and drove. Raymond and Ned sat on the back seat 
with their guns in readiness to shoot should the prisoners 
make any attempt to escape. It was half past nine when 


JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE. 


297 


the party pulled up in front of Squire Copelands store. The 
loafers had nearly all gone home, but the few who remained 
were treated to a sensation that furnished the theme for their 
conversation for many a day after. 

Pete Atkins suddenly became invested with an extraordinary 
interest, and, although his face had for years been a familiar one 
in Chestnut, he was gazed upon by the eager group of his fel- 
low-townsmen that crowded around the wagon, very much as 
they would have viewed the royal Bengal tiger at a circus. 

If he had any friends in the group they did not announce 
themselves. Everyone seemed anxious that Pete should not 
by any possibility make his escape. 

A number of men volunteered to stand guard over him and 
Tom that night at the Town Hall, and Joel, who had vowed 
never to sleep until he saw the doors of the Bolton jail close 
upon them, accepted the services of half a dozen of them, as 
he afterwards declared, more for company than anything else. 

Squire Copeland insisted that Payrnond and Ned should 
remain all night at his house, and the invitation was thank- 
fully accepted. For a long time they laid awake and talked 
over their excitino’ adventures in Letter K which had ended 
so triumphantly in the capture of the smuggler chief. It was 
past twelve o’clock when they finally fell asleep, the two 
happiest boys in Chestnut. 


298 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

Very little remains to be told. The news of Pete Atkins’s 
capture spread like wildfire through the towm. Raymond and 
Xed were the heroes of the hour. Their praises were in 
everybody’s mouth. Those who had been the most eager to 
condemn tire former as a bad boy when he left the Free High 
School were now among the foremost in extolling him, and 
many who had thought Ned a "spoiled boy” discovered that 
they had always known that he had the "right stuff in him.” 

Among all the congratulations tendered Raymond, there 
was none that affected him more deeply than grandfather 
Benson’s hearty "God bless you, my boy. You have done 
well.” 

The day following their capture Pete Atkins and his son 
Avere taken to Bolton and lodged in jail. Simon Dart’s store 
Avas thoroughly searched, and the result shoAved that there Avas 
scarcely any kind of merchandise on which a profit could be 
made by evading the custom laws, in Avhich the crafty fellow 
had not dealt. The capacious cellar of his store had been 
extended far back into the hill and was packed full of a gen- 
eral variety of smuggled goods. Prominent among its contents 
Avere a number of barrels of various kinds of liquor. Here it 
Avas evident had been the place where Pete Atkins had long 


COXCLUSIOX. 


2I)‘) 

stored up the intoxicants that had been such a curse to the 
good town of Chestnut. 

At the preliminary hearing of the ruinseller and his son, 
Tom was sentenced to the reform school during his minority, 
there being no proof that he was personally connected with 
the smuggling operations of his father. Pete, however, was 
handed over to the Federal authorities. He was taken to 
Portland and tried before the United States Circuit Court at 
that place. Raymond and Ned were summoned to the city as 
witnesses. They were not called upon to testify, however. 
Pete pleaded guilty to the charge of smuggling, and although 
every effort was made by his counsel to secure a light sen- 
tence, he was given a long term of imprisonment. His family 
shortly after removed to another state, and the town of 
Chestnut became well rid of its worst plague spot. 

Simon Dart endeavored to make his way to California, but 
forgot that electricity travels faster than steam. He was 
arrested in Chicago, being recognized from a description sent 
out by the Associated Press. When he finally came up for 
trial before the Circuit Court at Portland, he was given the 
same sentence that had been meted out to Pete, and was sent 
to bear him company. Ike Wallace escaped safely into Can- 
ada and was never heard fmm after. For more than a week 
close watch was kept upon the Dole cpmp, but none of the 
Atkins gang showed up there. They had evidently taken 
the alarm and left the county. But the smuggling business 
was dead in the town of Chestnut, nor has it ever been revived 
since. 

Raymond and Ned had a very pleasant time in Portland, 
going where they pleased and innusing themselves as they 
thought best. Upon their return home the reward of a 


300 


THE SMUGGLERS OF CHESTNUT. 


hundred dollars which had been offered for the arrest and 
conviction of the smugglers was paid to them. The}' 
insisted on sharing it with Joel Webber, but he absolutely 
refused to take a cent of it. He declared that ail the credit 
for the capture of Pete and the breaking up of the gang 
belonged to them, and they alone should have the 
benefits that came from it. The people of Chestnut, how- 
ever, were not Avilling that Joel should go unrewarded for 
his share in the good work. A subscription paper was 
passed round, and the following Christmas he was presented 
with a fine buffalo overcoat, a recognition that affected the 
big, good-hearted fellow deeply. 

It was about a week after the stirring events narrated in 
the foregoing chapters that Ned Grover came enthusiastically 
upon Raymond as he was cutting sap troughs in front of his 
camp. "You might as well give up that work, old fellow,’’ 
he exclaimed. "You’ll have no use for those.” 

"What do you mean by that?” asked Raymond in sur- 
prise. 

"I’ve some great news to tell you. Your grandfather and 
my father have put their heads together, and have decided to 
let you and me go to the Krampton Academy. That was 
the place, you know, where your cousin, Dave Weston, 
thought of going before he made up his mind to enter the 
Bowdoin Medical School. Father has written the principal 
of the academy, and has made arrangements to have us room 
in the large dormitory and take our meals at the Academy 
club. I have the catalogue of the institution at home, and 
there were two hundred and forty students there last term. 
Just think of that, old fellow.” 

Raymond had listened excitedly to this unexpected informa- 


CONCLUSION. 


301 


tion, and at the close of Ned's remarks gave expression to 
his feelings in an enthusiastic cheei’c It had long been his 
ambition to go away from home to school and he was over- 
joyed at this promise for the fulfilment of his desires. He 
mentally resolved to give such a good account of himself that 
grandfather Benson would never have occasion to regret hav- 
ing sent him to that institution. 

That afternoon Kaymond and Ned visited the birch ridge 
on grandfather Benson’s back lot with their shot guns, but 
their minds were more intent on plans for the future than 
upon hunting, and they returned home with few partridges. 

That night there was a tremor in grandfather Benson’s 
voice as he conducted the family prayers, and Eaymond 
thought he saw a tear glisten under his grandmother’s spec- 
tacles when she kissed him jjood nis^ht. 

For the first time he realized what a sacrifice they had made 
for him, to take up their lonely life again that he might be 
given advantages to fit him better for the work of after years. 
He knew how much they would miss him, and how earnestly 
their prayers would go out for him. He almost reproached 
himself for consenting to leave them , and when he finally fell 
asleep it was with a belter understanding than ever before of 
how near and dear to him ’svere the good couple downi stairs. 

In due season Raymond and Ned went away to school, but 
I have not space to tell of their experiences at Krampton 
Academy. What befell them there will very properly form 
the subject matter of a future volume entitled "Krampton 
Acad.smy Life, or Raymond Bensojj^’s Fit for College.” 


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